


Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Series: Should I Stay-verse [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, And No I Wont Apologize, Angst, Basically the Master ends up regenerating with the Doctor, Communication, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Martha Jones Deserves Better, Miscommunication, Original Spider Character - Freeform, Other, Swordfighting, Telepathy, The Doctor feeling guilty, The TARDIS Swear Filter is Canon For This Fic, Whump, and the Doctor finally realizes this, and they're stuck together until the TARDIS calms down, canon-typical stabbing?, followed by, i guess?, light stabbing, originally had this tagged as light angst but..., technically its a knife fight but AO3 doesnt have that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 70
Words: 126,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: When a newly-regenerated Doctor falls out of the sky without a single memory, her sonic, or her TARDIS, she isn't alone. Her companion is equally confused, and not very keen on sticking around, but lacking any other option... well, there are worse ways to spend your time than bugging your nemesis/rival/best friend.
Relationships: Kira Arlo/Yasmin Khan, The Doctor | Theta Sigma/The Master | Koschei (Doctor Who: Academy Era), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: Should I Stay-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790815
Comments: 1243
Kudos: 715





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> My first Doctor Who fic is, of course, Thoschei. Spyfall broke me and I'm writing this to cope, basically. I'm still not quite sure how the Master ended up in the TARDIS, but I'll think of something eventually. Enjoy!

The Doctor is regenerating, and there's nothing he can do about it. Well, that's not quite true - there's nothing he _will_ do about it. He can feel the Artron energy pulsing through his veins, can see the faint gold glow he knows he's emitting, and knows it won't be long, the same way he knows which points are fixed and which are mutable, the same way he knows that, if he were on Earth now, he would feel the planet spinning beneath his feet, the same way he knows that body was _not_ lying on the TARDIS floor a second ago.

The same way he would know that body anywhere, and the same way he knows that she betrayed him, left him, chose her former self over him. The same way he knows it doesn't really matter. She's glowing too, wisps of gold rising off of her skin like steam, but she isn't moving. He'd be more concerned about that, but he can hardly think through the haze of gold and the last thing he manages is a command, a plea for his future self; _Be kind_.

And then his body, his mind, everything goes up in shimmering flames and his vision goes dark.

Regenerating then crashing into a train from several hundred feet in the air ranks very low on their list of Experiences I Want To Repeat. Just below it is regenerating then crashing into a train from several hundred feet in the air and then getting used as a landing pad by another person doing the same thing. Surely they've been through worse, but when they're trying to shove another person off their still-rebuilding body, it's hard to think of something that fits the bill.

Finally they manage to stand, and see three humans huddled together, looking terrified. Well, that won't do.

"What?" they ask, baffled; they can't look _that_ bad.

Then they turn and see a mass of wires sparking and getting entirely too close for comfort to two other humans. They grab a dangling electrical cord from the ceiling, probably the result of their impromptu skydiving, and jam it into the tangled mess, making it short out.

"Should buy us a few seconds!" they announce, and then look up to see the hole in the roof of the train. "Oh, yeah, long story. Tell you later. Doors?"

One of the humans, an older woman with dark skin, shakes her head and says, "Locked shut."

"Right then. We'll see about that." They shove both hands into the pockets of their jacket, which is much longer than it used to be, only to find them both disappointingly empty. "No sonic. Empty pockets, oh, I hate empty pockets!"

The wire-tentacle-thing begins to move again, towards the most panicked-looking of the humans.

"It's coming back!" he yelps, backing away from it until he hit the wall of the train.

"What are you?" they ask.

It moves closer to the unconscious form on the ground, the person they can't help but feel is important to them the same way air is.

"Okay, don't like questions! More the private type, I get that," they babble, more concerned with getting the thing away from their friend(? enemy? something else?) than with what they're saying.

Then it changes directions, as much as they can tell, back towards the human, who's white as a sheet.

"Get it away from me!"

"All of you, stay very still," they say, as calm as they can manage. Maybe if it doesn't perceive them as a threat, it won't attack.

"It's going to kill us," the man whimpers.

"Could've done that already," they reply, then regret it as the thing moves again.

"Nan!" screams the boy on the opposite side of the train.

"Ryan, stay away!" the woman shouts; _good instincts,_ they think.

"Oh, my god," whispers the girl.

The thing glows with a bright white light before electricity arcs out to touch each person in the train, harmless but deeply uncomfortable. Just as quick, it's gone, disappearing through the hole in the roof and leaving the train car dark and panicked.

"Alright, you three relax, but stay put and watch them," they say, pointing to the body of the floor. "If they wake up or do something odd, come get me immediately. I'll check the rest of the train." She turns and walks past the other two humans. "Fat lot of good you two were!"

The young woman in a police uniform and her friend follow them through the train.

"Hey! Hold on there, please, madam! I need you to do as I say. This could be a potential crime scene," she says, catching up and pulling out a legal pad.

"Why're you calling me madam?" they turn and demand.

"Because you're a woman?"

"Oh, am I? Does it suit me?" they(she, now, and isn't _that_ exciting!) ask.

"What?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember!" She grins. "Sorry, half an hour ago I was a white-haired Scotsman. When's the next train due?"

"This is the last one back," says the young man; Ryan, maybe.

Wait, something's not clicking. "But the doors are locked, how'd you both get in?"

"Driver's window was smashed in," replies the girl, and she can't keep calling her that in her head.

"What's your name?"

"PC Khan, Hallamshire Police."

No, that won't do. "Name, not title."

"Yasmin Khan, Yaz to my friends. Can I have your name, please?" Yasmin says, exasperated.

Ah. "When I can remember it."

"You don't know your own name?" asks Yasmin, incredulous.

"Course I know it, I just can't remember it," and isn't _that_ embarrassing, "It's right there, on the tip of my... what'th that?" She sticks her whatever-it-is out and points.

"Er, tongue?" Ryan(she thinks) suggests.

" _Tongue_! Smart boy, biology. What did she call you? Ryan?" she asks.

"Yeah, Ryan Sinclair."

"Mm, good name. Are you a doctor, Ryan?" she asks, and she can't help but think the question came out the wrong way.

"No," he says.

"Shame. I'm looking for a doctor."

"Miss? That man in the car, he's awake, and he's asking for someone called, er, Theta," says the man the wire-beast had been targeting.

She perks up at that and says, "Oh, I think that's me! Or at least it was. At some point. Maybe."

"So's that your name, then?" Yasmin asks.

"No, not any more. Different me, different name, different everything, now. Grew out of it, I think," she replies.

"Oh," Yasmin says, a very suspicious look flitting across her face.

Then she heads back towards the train car, Yasmin and Ryan and that man who's name she doesn't yet know trailing behind her. Her person is sitting on one of the non-demolished seats, his dark hair an absolute mess and the purple dress he's wearing scorched and torn beyond repair. His eyes light up when she enters, and something about him makes her hearts speed up. She knows him, she knows she does.

"Well, that's a change from the eyebrows," he remarks, smirking as he looks her over.

"Some of us can afford the upgrade," she replies without thinking.

He laughs, and she remembers him, remembers Koschei. She remembers long days running through red grass, hours spent experimenting side by side, the way his lips felt against hers. And then she remembers more; running away out of fear, leaving him, the way his charm became manipulation, his knack for telepathy a terrifying proficiency in hypnotism. Their friendship(more than that, but that hurts to think about so she doesn't) twisted into a bitter rivalry with no winners, only neverending losses. Hundreds, thousands of years later, a desperate plea for friendship planting the seeds for an attempt to redeem them, both of them, and then everything falling apart. In the span of a second, her face goes from delight to despair.

"Ah. I'm guessing you've remembered, then?" he says, and there's an edge to it, a hint of anger or possibly guilt, though surely she's imagining that.

"Yeah, bit," she whispers, numb.

"Do you two know each other?" asks the older man.

"Sort of. We were, er..." she starts, then flounders when she realizes there's no good way to end that sentence.

"Best friends, as kids," he finishes, a sardonic grin spreading across his face.

"Right. Who're you, then? You just came crashing through that roof!" the man says.

"Well, I was thrown out of my TARDIS, not quite sure about him," she says, and then realizes. "Oh, I've lost my TARDIS. It was exploding, then it dematerialized. Don't panic, not the end of the world. Well, it could be the end of the world, but one thing at a time."

"To be honest, I don't know how I got here. Last thing I knew I was busy dying. Not that you cared to come and find out, love," Koschei points out.

"Sorry, what? Are we supposed to be understanding any of this?" the man asks.

"No, sorry, really long story and we do not have time for it all - or any of it, actually. Now, what's a hostile alien lifeform doing on this train, and why was it so interested in you?" she says, pointing to the other man, who Yasmin(Yaz? Are they friends now?) is talking to.

"Me? I wasn't doing anything! I just want to go home!" he yelps, eyes wide and face still pale.

"Don't be daft. There's no such thing as aliens, and even if there was, they ain't going to be on a train to Sheffield," says the older man.

"Why not? We're both alien and we're here," she replies, gesturing to Koschei, who's sprawled back against the seat.

"Grace, we're going," he says, turning to the woman.

"No, Graham, we're not. She just saved our lives," says Grace.

"And she'll probably risk them before the night's over," mutters Koschei.

She shoots him a Look, and for a moment wishes she had proper intimidating eyebrows again, before she says to the rest of them, "Don't be scared. All of this is new to you, and new can be scary. Now, we all want answers. Stick with us, you might get some."

"Actually," stutters the man, "I don't want answers. I just want to get to work and forget all about this. If that's alright with everyone... even if it isn't. Thank you."

"Would you like me to come with you, Karl?" asks Yaz, she's calling her Yaz, they're friends now.

"No! Thank you. I, er, just want to be on my own. I'll walk, I need the air. And I'm with him. We don't get aliens in Sheffield," Karl says, before walking out of the train.

"I think he's still in shock, bless him," Grace sighs.

"Obvious question," she starts, "but has anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary tonight?"

Ryan slowly raises his hand.


	2. Weird Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put off finishing my Chemistry homework to write the rest of this.  
> (Don't worry, I'm almost done)

Squishing six people into a police car isn't easy, really. Yaz has to drive, Theta(the name doesn't feel quite right, but she needs to go by _something_ ) wants to sit up front, Koschei refuses to sit in the back, and Graham, Grace, and Ryan just want them to stop bickering and settle down. They end up with her smushed between Grace and Ryan, seatbelt-less, leaning forward as far as she can to talk to Yaz and Koschei.

"I'm going to be in such trouble if they find out I were there. Or that I’m letting you do that," Yaz groans.

"Can we have the lights and sirens on?" Koschei asks, grinning.

" _No!_ I shouldn't be doing any of this!" Yaz snaps. "Still can't believe I'm not telling my superiors about this."

"Telling them what, that an alien broke in to a train, zapped us, and disappeared?" she says. "You know well as I do you won't be believed, Yaz - I'm calling you Yaz 'cos we're friends now. Least this way we stand a chance at figuring out what happened."

Yaz sighs and mutters, "Here I am, following the advice of a woman who can't even tell me her own name, driving to the middle of nowhere to look at an alien _something_ nobody can explain.”

"If it's any consolation, at least you haven't almost died yet. Usually that kind of thing happens by now," Koschei informs her in a helpful tone.

" _So,_ how do you three know each other?" Theta asks, loudly.

"I'm his nan," says Grace, "and Graham's me husband."

" _Second_ husband," mutters Ryan, just loud enough for her to hear, and Grace shoots him a Look.

"And you two know each other?" she pesters, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Yeah, Yaz and I were at school together," Ryan replies.

"Not Yasmin Khan?" Grace leans forward, looking at her.

"Hullo, Ryan's nan!" Yaz waves.

"Haven't you done well for yourself, love!" Grace smiles, leaning back again and patting Graham on the arm.

Theta sits back and turns to Ryan. "And you say you just found it there, this thing?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Ryan pulls out his phone. "I took pictures."

"Oh, good lad," she glances through the photos of a strange, cocoon-like lump surrounded by trees. She doesn't recognize it, but maybe... "Kos, look at these."

She passes the phone up to him and can almost feel the eye-roll he's giving her.

"Did you forget I just regenerated, too? No, I don't know what it is, I can't even remember my proper name," he snaps, handing the phone back.

"Oh, that's exciting!" she mutters, passing it back to Ryan. "No, not exciting. What do I mean? _Worrying._ Fast as you can, Yaz!"

The forest is nice, she thinks, as Ryan leads them through to where he found the object. Not so dense it’s hard to walk, and it’s nicely cool in the autumn air, the fallen leaves crunching satisfyingly underfoot. She hangs back near Koschei, taking his hand in hers on sheer instinct as they walk. She notices that, for once, he's just a bit taller than her.

"I don't remember too much, yet, but I do know we didn't part on the best of terms. So, why're you back, and in a different body? Weren't you going to go off with your other self and conquer the universe together or something?" she asks, low enough the humans ahead of them can't hear.

"The idiot shot me," he hisses back. "Ruined a perfectly good dress, and didn't even think that I might have anticipated it. I don't know how I got here, though. Hell, how did _you_ get off the ship?"

She pauses, trying to remember. "Now you mention it, I'm not sure. Might just be regeneration sickness, though. Don't think I've seen you right after regenerating before, 'cept after the whole Yana incident, but that doesn't really count. Didn't think you'd get it as bad as I do. You were always better about this kind of thing. Oh! What do you think, by the way? Haven't been able to see what I look like yet."

"Definitely prettier than the last one," he smirks. "Smaller, too."

She glares(up, _ever so slightly_ up) at him. "I think I'm still taller than Missy. And you're not one to talk about pretty, have you seen your new face?"

Before Koschei can reply, that insufferable smirk still on his(very pretty) face, Ryan says, "There's my bike."

He's stopped in a clearing, pointing up to a bicycle tangled in the branches of a tree. She may still be recovering, but she _knows_ that isn't normal.

"Why's it in a tree?" she asks.

Ryan grimaces. "We were up top and I chucked it over."

“He gets cross ‘cos he can’t ride it,” Graham says in a conspiratorial tone.

“We’re giving him lessons,” Grace explains. “He’s got dyspraxia, it’s a coordination disorder.”

" _Anyway_ , enough about me,” says Ryan, “The tree’s to the left, so it should be…”

The area in front of them was empty of everything, except a circle of plants and dead leaves that looked as though they’d been crushed under something. There was no sign of the object anywhere.

“It was definitely there!” Yaz exclaims.

Theta walks towards the circle of crushed plants, bending down to inspect it and reaching for her sonic on instinct.

“Well, it isn’t now,” Koschei notes, raising an eyebrow.

“So where is it?” she wonders.

Yaz was kind enough to drive them to Grace and Graham’s place before she went back to report to her superiors. As they get out of the car, Theta says, “Two weird things, one city, same night. Makes me nervous.”

“I’ll see if there have been any more reports on that object,” Yaz offers.

“Good,” says Theta, leaning in towards the window of the car, “‘cos we’re going to need all the information we can get. Meet us back here.”

Yaz nods and drives off, leaving the five of them alone.

“I could have a word with some of my old pals from work,” Graham suggests. “If you want to know what’s happening, ask a bus driver.”

“He always says that,” Ryan mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cos it is true,” argues Graham. “I’d still be doing it now if I could.”

Ryan shrugs. “I can search for weird stuff on social media.”

“I’m sure that will do a world of good,” Koschei mutters to her; she hits him in the arm.

“I’ll check in with me nurses group on WhatsApp,” Grace says.

Graham pauses. “Seriously, though - aliens?”

“Yup,” she nods.

“Maybe I won’t mention that bit,” he shakes his head.

They turn to head inside. She sways a bit on her feet, and feels Koschei put a hand on her shoulder. Her breath shortens, and she can’t tell if it’s because of him or whatever’s going on with her new body.

“Suddenly, I feel _really_ tired,” she gasps.

Grace looks concerned. “That was a big fall you had, love. We should get you checked out at A&E.”

“No, no, no,” she says, eyes widening. “Never go anywhere that’s just initials. Although…” she pauses, sticking a finger up one nostril. Hmm, seems she’s going to pass out soon. “Ah. Can one of you catch me?”

“You’re going to fall over?” Ryan asks, eyes wide.

She pauses, thinks, and says, “In 2 minutes, 19 seconds.” No, never mind. “Wait. Forget the 2 minutes - 19 seconds. Oh, this new nose is so reliable.”

And then, for the second time in as many hours, her vision goes dark, and she feels Koschei catch her as she falls unconscious.


	3. Interlude: Cat and Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mini-chapter from Koschei's POV. It was supposed to be tender, but it ended up more angsty. Whoops!

Theta is sprawled out on Grace's couch, dead to the world. Koschei(it bothers him beyond words that he can’t remember his chosen name, that he’s stuck going by this childish nickname, but he doesn’t have any choice) sits in the chair next to the couch, watching over her as her chest rises and falls steadily. When was the last time he saw her this vulnerable? The Mondasian ship, with her(him, then) tied up to a chair. But when did he last see her this vulnerable, without some ulterior motive, some  _ plan _ to end the world, or kill her, or blow up a galaxy? That, he doesn't have an answer for.

All he ever wanted was  _ her _ , her friendship, her attention, her love, but she doesn’t want to give it. They play this cosmic game of cat and mouse; her running from her past, him chasing his future, neither truly achieving their goal because the other is always in the way. He knows, deep down, she’ll never be satisfied with him, no matter how much he changes himself for her, because he’ll always remind her of who and what she really is. A monster, a killer, and certainly not the idealistic persona that she presents, that she’s already slipped into in this new body. He knows, but he ignores it, because hope is a very tricky thing to resist.

He sighs, and brushes a stray strand of blonde hair from her face, feeling the faint, almost electric, sensation of Artron energy beneath her skin. He resists the urge to peek inside her head, to see what’s going on in that quicksilver mind of hers as she sleeps.

"So, uh, who exactly are you?" Ryan asks, awkwardly leaning over from the chair he’s sitting in at the table.

He turns and says, "Her friend. Her  _ only _ friend, really."

"Seriously? That sounds… codependent," Ryan mutters.

He laughs, short and bitter. "That's one way to put it. She's the clingy one, though. Should've seen her a few bodies ago, all, 'Oh Koschei, don't leave me, we're the only ones left!'" he says in what he thinks is a fairly accurate imitation of her pinstriped body. "Who's fault was  _ that _ , I wonder?"

"'A few bodies ago'? What do you mean?" Ryan moves to sit down in the chair across the room.

"Haven't figured it out yet, have you? We aren't human. We can cheat death, reform our bodies when we die, but it's tiring. That's why she's passed out; she's been running around the past two hours without resting, like an idiot, and it's finally catching up with her," he says, a touch of fondness in his tone.

"Huh. S'that why you were unconscious on the train?" Ryan asks.

His lips purse. "Yes."

Grace bustles in carrying a blanket. "How's she doing?"

"Fine. She's just tired," Koschei says.

Gold light pulses under Theta's skin for a few seconds. She exhales, and a wisp of gold rises from her mouth before dissipating.

"Is that normal?" Grace asks, leaning over her to take her pulse.

"Yes,” he replies, and watches as her eyes go wide for a second, “and so are the two heartbeats you're probably feeling."

Grace nods and drapes the blanket over Theta, then says, “You know more than I do, so… anything else I should know?”

“Don’t give either of us aspirin, it could be deadly. We tend to run colder than humans, but we also have a higher heat threshold. Our respiratory system is completely different from yours, so don’t worry if she stops breathing for a minute or two,” he rattles off the basics, just enough to make sure Grace won’t accidentally kill her.

“And the gold light?” she asks.

“Leftover Artron energy from regeneration,” He holds up his hand, letting her see the faint gold glow under his skin. “We’re both recovering right now, and as long as we don’t get majorly injured in the next four to eight hours, we should be fine.”

She nods again, then turns when she hears a knock at the door.

“Must be Yasmin or Graham. I’ll go get the door,” she says, and does exactly that.

Koschei looks down at Theta again, and he can tell by the way her face is moving that she’ll be waking soon. Really, she should still be resting, but he can’t exactly talk - so should he.

Yasmin walks in, Graham slightly behind her. They barely have a chance to relax before Theta jolts up, eyes wide and frantic.


	4. Smoke and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there is no way I can manage one chapter a day, I'll probably be slowing down to one every two-three days during the week. During the weekends I'll probably pick up the pace. Also, no spoilers, but Fugitive of the Judoon has me Concerned, how about you?

Theta dreams of stars. She moves effortlessly between them, weaving in and out of planetary orbits, dodging passing comets and asteroids as she travels. She knows she’s dreaming, knows that in all likelihood, she’s passed out somewhere in Grace and Graham’s house, knows that she brought this upon herself by refusing to rest after regenerating, but she can’t bring herself to care. She wanders across the dream-galaxy aimlessly, taking in the sights of planets and solar systems, and can’t recall which are real and which are made up. Distantly, she feels something brush across her forehead, in her real, physical body, and she sighs and begins the long journey back to awareness. The planets and stars around her slowly fade as she struggles back to consciousness, hindered by the fact that she knows she should still be sleeping off the stress of regeneration.

She finally opens her eyes and catches a glimpse of boring-looking ceiling before she’s launching herself upright, staring Ryan and Yaz in the eye.

“Ah! Oh! Who woke me up?” she demands. “I’m not ready, still healing, still… oh! Can you smell that?” She perches on the back of the sofa(the nice, comfy sofa). “No, not smell, not hear, _feel_. Can you feel…” Her hand flies to her collarbone; something’s wrong. “Stay still, Ryan.”

He freezes, shocked. She clambers off the sofa and tugs his shirt down, looking at his clavicle.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asks.

“Ah. Show me your collarbones,” she says, glancing around.

Everyone pulls down the collar of their shirts(or, in Koschei’s case, his dress) to reveal a small, blinking red dot on their left collarbone.

“Oh, you’ve all got them,” she whispers despairingly.

“So do you,” Koschei points out.

"Yeah, I have, okay,” she nods, pacing around the room. “Really sorry. Not good news - DNA bombs. Micro-implants which code to your DNA. On detonation, they disrupt the foundation of your genetic code, melting your DNA. Fast and nasty and outlawed in every civilized galaxy."

The humans' faces flood with panic, and even Koschei's eyes go wide. She steps in front of Ryan again and inspects the bomb.

"How did we get them?" Ryan asks.

"Never mind that, are they going to go off?" asks Graham.

She shushes them. "Quiet, I'm trying to think. It's difficult." Koschei raises an eyebrow. "I'm not yet who I am. Brain and body still rebooting, reformatting." She glances around, spots Ryan's phone on the table, and… "Oh! Reformatting! Can I borrow that?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he says as she moves to grab it. "But what for?"

"That creature on the train, when you two came aboard, it zapped us all with these. Simple plan to take out witnesses," she explains as she tinkers with the phone. "You were still passed out, Kos, doubt you remember. Oh, Ryan, I reformatted your phone."

His face falls. "No! All my stuff's on there!"

"Not any more!" she grins, manic and energetic.

Now, if she did what she thinks she did, that button _should_ \- apparently, it should slam her into the wall. Huh, good to know.

"That nap did me a _world_ of good!" she exclaims, standing. "Very comfy sofa."

She realizes that, somewhere in between passing out and waking up, her suit jacket had been taken off and put on a chair. Tattered and falling to pieces as it is, she's fond of it, and so she grabs it and tugs it on before saying, "Come on, keep up!"

Grace’s Volvo is significantly roomier than Yaz’s police car. Since Theta is the only one who knew where they were going, this time it's Koschei stuck in the back along with Graham, Ryan, and Yaz. Even though she's busy looking at Ryan's phone to find the source of the DNA bombs, she gets the distinct impression that he's sulking.

"Next left," she tells Grace.

"Where are we driving to?" asks Yaz.

"I reckon she's using my phone to track the origin signal for the DNA bombs," says Ryan.

"Again, how long 'til they go off?" Graham asks.

"She doesn't know," Koschei snaps. "There's a reason I never use them, they're annoying to work with."

Graham considers this, then asks, "Well, can't we just defuse them?"

"No. We don't have anywhere close to the right equipment right now. Unless you want to try the equivalent of open heart surgery with a spoon," says Koschei.

Graham winces.

The phone beeps. “Left again,” she says.

Grace pulls the car into a wide, empty road. Everyone gets out into the light drizzle of rain, and as she glances at the phone again, Theta says, "We're close."

She turns and crouches to look at a puddle, which is filled with ripples as if an earthquake is in progress. The phone’s beeping gets louder and more urgent. She stands up again just in time to see an explosion go off down the street. Something moves.

"Bingo!" she whispers, then shouts, " _Oi!_ "

A tall, humanoid figure appears through the clearing smoke and answers her cry with a low metallic bellow.

She pauses. "Huh. I was expecting a tentacle-y thing." Then it begins to move, and she realizes it’s going to make a run for it. "Don't you move!"

The figure turns and runs. Oh well, it was worth a shot. She takes off after it, and can hear Koschei sigh and dash after her. As she runs through the smoke, Yaz calls, “Don’t just stand there, come on!”

She’s out of breath before she even hits the end of the street, and she’s lost sight of the creature. Koschei and Yaz catch up to her as she stands, panting.

“Oh, lost it,” she gasps. “It’s fast. I’m - slower ‘cause of all this… fizzing inside.”

Koschei nods, muttering, “And it just _figures_ this new body isn’t a runner.”

Behind them, Ryan shouts, “In here!”

“Got a man down over here,” Graham says as they follow Ryan into the large, mostly bare warehouse. Grace is crouched over the body.

“That _thing_ must have killed him,” she says. “I’ve never seen injuries like these.”

“Not a weapon blast,” Theta observes, leaning over the corpse.

“More like an ice burn,” Koschei says.

“It broke his jaw open, too,” Grace sighs.

They both lean in for a better look.

“Looks like it took one of his teeth, too. Now that’s just impractical,” says Koschei, shaking his head.

Theta grimaces. “What sort of creature kills someone then stops to pull out a tooth? I’m sorry you all had to see this.”

“I’ll… find something to cover the body.” Grace stands and begins to look around the warehouse.

“Thank you, Grace,” Theta says. “I'm sorry any of this is happenin’. I'm sorry that thing on the train planted these bombs inside you, and I'm sorry I haven't figured out what's going on yet.”

“This is it, this is the thing,” says Ryan from a little way away.

She stands and walks over, Koschei trailing behind her, muttering, “Honestly, what kind of idiot takes _teeth?_ They’re such a pain to get, and they don’t have any use.”

The remains of the pod from Ryan’s pictures are sitting there, cracked and broken. It seems strangely organic; not mechanical enough to be a proper ship, but certainly not a natural lifeform(or at least not any she recognizes). _God_ , she wishes she had her sonic.

“It was all sealed up earlier,” Yaz points out. “Looks like it’s been broken."

“Or it’s done what it came here for,” Theta says, circling it. “It’s some sort of transport chamber, presumably for that thing we saw in the alley. But… why here, why tonight?”

Ryan looks up, guilty. “Actually, that might have been me.”

“Why?” she asks slowly. “What did you do?”

He pauses, then says, “When I went to get me bike, there was this line in the air,” he moves his finger in front of him, illustrating, “and then it moved, and there were shapes…”

“And?”

“And I touched one.”

“Ryan,” Grace sighs.

“You all would have done the same!” he protests.

“I wouldn’t,” argues Graham.

“I would’ve,” admits Theta, making a face, and at the same time, Koschei says, “She would.”

“Right, the shapes disappeared. A few seconds later, that appeared,” Ryan continues, then pauses. “What’ve I done?”

And isn’t that a question she’d love to answer. “Hard to say, really.”

“I suppose you’ll be blaming this on the dyspraxia as well,” says Graham. “Can’t ride a bike, start an alien invasion.”

“Graham!” scolds Grace, hitting him on the arm.

“What?”

“Enough, love.”

It’s barely noticeable, and if she hadn’t been looking at him, Theta probably would have missed the way Ryan flinches before saying, “Alright, I made a mistake. But why did that guy move this thing from the Peaks to here? And how did he even know it were there?”

“Good questions,” Theta says.

After a second of silence, Yaz says, “Let’s take a look ‘round here, see what we can find.”

Theta pulls out the phone and finds the tracker app glitching and useless. “I can’t follow it. The tracking’s been blocked, like it figured out what I was doing.”

“Maybe if you had let me help, this wouldn’t have happened,” Koschei points out in a smug tone. She hits him on the arm.

“If we were tracking bomb signals from that creature on the train,” Grace asks, “why did they lead us here?”

Theta points at her. “Another good question. I dunno. If I could analyse that… ‘course, what I really need is my - Oh! I could build one! I’m good at building things! Probably.”

She pauses, half expecting another snide comment from Koschei, only to realize that he’s nodding.

“What?” he says. “I don’t exactly have my umbrella with me, if you recall. Might as well help you make your new sonic whatever at the same time I make mine.”

“Oh, like I’ll be the one needing help,” she scoffs as she ducks around the plastic curtain separating - yes! - a workshop from the rest of the warehouse.

Time to get building.


	5. Sparks Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week was waaaay busier than I expected, between classes and two separate shows I'm rehearsing for. I think I'll keep the updates the the weekends for the most part, and maybe one chapter on Wednesday if I write it in advance.

Theta didn’t even realize Grace and Graham had followed them into the workshop until she hears Graham say, “You don’t look like aliens.”

“You should have seen us a few hours back,” she says, sorting through the tools to find the ones they’ll probably need. On the other side of the room, Koschei is looking around for materials. It’s the same system of dividing the work that they’ve used for thousands of years, and it comes back to them as easy as breathing. “Our whole bodies changed. Every cell in our bodies, burning. Some of them are still at it now,” yes, that one will do nicely, “reordering, regenerating.”

There! That should be everything. She spills the armfull onto the table with a clatter.

“Sounds painful, love,” says Grace.

From the corner, Koschei says, “You have no idea.”

“There’s the moment where you’re sure you’re about to die,” she says, “and then… you’re born. It’s terrifying.” She turns to face them, holding a pair of odd, claw-like things in her hands. “Right now, I’m a stranger to myself. There’s  _ echoes _ of who I was, and a sort of  _ call _ towards who I am. And I have to hold my nerve and trust all these new instincts, shape myself towards them.” She pauses, then, “I’ll be fine. In the end. Hopefully.” She tosses the claws over her shoulder with a clang, then says, “Well, I have to be, because you guys need help. And if there’s one thing I’m sure of, when people need help, I  _ never _ refuse.” She gently herds them towards the open curtain, and says, “Right! This is gonna be fun!” before swooshing it shut.

“Quite the speech you gave there, dear. Very poetic,” Koschei says, carrying over a bucket full of miscellaneous cutlery. “Loved the self-awareness at the end.”

“It’s all true,” she says, peering into the bucket. Mostly spoons; lovely.

“Oh, I’m sure it is. But, of all the constants of your life to choose, you pick your incorrigible need to meddle?”

“It’s not meddling if they ask for help!” she protests.

“Which they didn’t,” he points out(and, sure, maybe he’s  _ technically _ right, but…)

“They need it, though!”

“You just keep telling yourself that, love.”

She almost snarls at him, immediately on the defensive, but restrains herself to snatching a rotary cutter with unnecessary vitriol. He smirks, and she can’t tell if she wants to deck him or kiss him. Then he deliberately brushes his hand against hers(she can  _ tell _ it’s deliberate; she knows him, knows how he likes to tease her) when he reaches across the countertop to grab something, and she makes up her mind. She reaches up, grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, and  _ yanks _ him down towards her.

It’s been far too long since they last kissed, in her opinion. When he had been Missy and she had been dead-set on redeeming him, she’d tried to keep physical things to a minimum(both because they made her uncomfortable in that body, and because she didn’t trust herself enough). This new body,  _ both _ of their new bodies, seemed much more inclined toward touching this time around. And, she must admit, it’s nice having him at roughly equal height to her.

Though he’s startled, the kiss clearly isn’t unexpected, because he reciprocates immediately. She turns so she can press him against the table, he threads his fingers through her hair, and she returns the favor. His mind, sharp and dark, presses against hers, and she hardly even hesitates before letting him in.

_ “Well, hasn’t someone been repressed these past decades,” _ he thinks.

_ “Oh, shut up,” _ she thinks back, nipping at his bottom lip.

His mind is different from the last time they did this(unsurprising, really), still laced with the prickleyness of his blond self, but tempered by the smooth darkness of Missy and his older selves. There’s something new, something entirely  _ him _ , and it’s exciting - an openness he hasn’t had in goodness knows how long.

He pulls back from her, and she remembers that right, they still need to breathe. She plants a hand behind him on the counter, giving her better leverage, and - promptly knocks something off the table with quite possibly the loudest clattering noise she’s ever heard.

“You two good in there?” Graham calls.

Koschei tries and fails to conceal his laugh as she shouts, “Yes! We’re fine! No need to worry!”

“You sound like a teenager who almost got caught in her bedroom with a boy,” he teases, his slightly reddened lips quirking upward.

She scrunches her nose at him(something she does a lot, now, she’s noticing; she’s got a very expression-y face) and steps back, saying, “Don’t we have sonic things to make? Come on.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything as they get back to work. It takes maybe 15 minutes to finish their new sonics when they work together. She emerges, triumphant, from the workshop, holding her new sonic screwdriver aloft.

“Ta-da!” she exclaims, turning it on. It glows with a golden light, then sparks. “Oh. Should be fine.”

Koschei is just behind her, his sonic pen working perfectly, the show-off.

“Hey,” calls Ryan from a doorway, “we found a load of stuff.”

  
  


Inside the small office is a computer, with a video of a young man already on the screen. As soon as everyone is inside, Ryan pushes play.

“It's come back. The thing I saw the night my sister... Everyone always says disappeared, but I know she was taken. Seven years now, tracking energy signals, building predictive programs so that I'd know when the atmospheric disruptions matched what happened that day. And tonight it came back again and I've got it. I am going to find out what happened to my sister. If anything happens to me, her name was Asha. Don't let anyone else go through this,” the man looks nervously off screen before the video stops.

“He knew what he was doing might kill him?” Ryan says disbelievingly.

Theta leans down and picks up a photo; two children standing together in formal clothing. “She was his family.”

Koschei peers over her shoulder to look at the picture, his eyes softening slightly. She stands and walks out of the room, to the pod. Sonic in hand, she begins examining it.

“Did you just make that?” Ryan asks as she scans the transport console.

“Sonic screwdriver,” she explains. “Well, I say screwdriver, but it’s a bit more multipurpose than that. Scanner, diagnostics, tin opener; more of a sonic swiss army knife. Only without the knife,” she pauses, grins at Koschei, and adds, “Only idiots carry knives."

“Only idiots build a sonic device that can’t handle wood,” he snaps.

“Seriously? A screwdriver that doesn’t handle wood?” says Graham.

“Look, that’s not important,” she says quickly. “What’s important is, this thing came from easily 5,000 galaxies away.”

“How can you tell?” Yaz asks.

“This bit here - recall circuitry,” she points to the panel. “It’s designed for a return journey.”

“So, whatever killed that bloke will have to come back here?” Graham says.

She nods. “Question is, why did it leave? What’s it looking for?”

“What’s your best guess, love?” Grace asks.

“Two aliens, one city, one night. Best guess? Two species at war, using Earth as a battleground,” she sighs.

“Nope,” says Koschei.

She raises her eyebrows. “No?”

“The signal from the DNA bombs led to whatever came from that pod,” he says, “It’s more likely that whatever it was that implanted the bombs is working for or with the creature from the pod. You stopped receiving the signal  _ after _ we found the creature.”

“And if it were working against the thing from the train, there’d be no reason to stop the signal,” her eyes widen. “Because it would lead us to the thing, and if we got rid of it that’d be less work for the creature. But, if they’re working together…”

“Then of course it wouldn’t want us finding its minion,” Koschei finishes.

“Brilliant!” she grins. “But then what’s it here for? It’s not peaceful and it’s got a way back home, so I doubt it’s here for refuge. Maybe supplies? No, doesn’t make sense, isn’t anything here it would want…”

Graham makes an offended looking face at that and says, “That’s all well and good, but what about the bombs? Like, how long have we got left?”   


“Enough questions! You lot, you love to chat, I get it. Lots to do, we’re working on it all,” she says. “And I haven’t forgotten about your collarbones, Graham. Give us, oh, nine minutes, bit of quiet, and we’ll be ready to roll. Scout’s honor.”

She turns to pick up a bundle of wires and hears someone’s phone ring.

“Were you ever actually a Scout?” Koschei asks, grabbing a few other things.

“Nah, but I did save a troop leader from getting eaten once, I think,” she says.

“Hello?” Graham answers his phone. “Yeah, Kevin. No, no, mate. That’s  _ exactly _ the sort of thing.”


	6. Tim Shaw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some light Angst, y'all

The information from Graham’s mate Kevin leads them to a tall building on the outskirts of Sheffield. The wire-beast is easily to spot, hovering on the roof and sparking. The glow was visible even from the house, so Theta has a sneaking suspicion that they’ll run into the alien from the pod again if they don’t hurry. She leads the group up the stairs after making sure everyone has the right equipment.

“Hi, us again!” Theta grins, brandishing the cables she grabbed from the warehouse.

She clamps the cable connected to a car battery she had found to the fire escape, and Koschei jabs the electric drill into the mass of wires. The wire-beast goes dim and collapses into a limp mass of unfortunately slimy tendrils on the floor.

“Get it! It actually worked!” Ryan cheers.

“Of course it worked, we’re not amateurs!” Theta says, walking towards the mass to examine it. “Overloaded its sockets, stunned it for a bit. Not sure how long, though, best be quick,” she pulls out her new sonic, “and thank you to Kevin the bus driver for location intel.”

Graham smiles. “See? Always ask a bus driver!”

Koschei pulls out his sonic as well, scanning the thing quickly. “It’s a colony of gathering coils.”

“These tentacle-y things, they’re creatures that gather information, weaponized bio-tech. They’ve been lashed together and augmented into one super-creature,” Theta explains. “But why? What data are they gathering?”

A grainy, black-and-white projection of the man from the train - she’s pretty sure his name was Kevin - appears as Koschei does something with his sonic, then stands.

“It’s Karl from the train!” Graham exclaims.

“Karl’s the data,” Theta realizes. “That’s what it was gathering on the train.”

“But what would the alien want with him?” asks Graham.

She notices the look Koschei is giving her, a ‘turn around  _ now _ ’ sort of look, a little too late to do anything about the towering, armor-clad figure that’s now on the roof as well. She hates it when her sneaking suspicions are right, but in this case, it’s just what she wanted.

“Which one of you should I kill first?” it asks with a low and heavily modulated voice.

“I’m voting none of us. Get behind me, now,” she says, shoving Yaz behind her as she approaches the figure.

It takes a step closer and she puts a hand out. “Stop right there. Come any further, and we’ll blast whatever that thing is.”

“I’d listen if I were you,” says Koschei, casually raising his sonic, which she knows he gave some less-than-pacifistic updates from hers when she wasn’t looking.

“You’re interfering in things you don’t understand,” it says.

She spreads her arms. “Yeah, well, we all need a hobby.”

“You two are not human. Who are you?” it asks.

“Well, he used to be a homicidal maniac, but we’re working on it. Me? I’m - “ she starts, and then pauses. “Augh, it’s gone again! I had it a minute ago, so annoying!”

“Why don’t you tell us who you are instead?” Koschei suggests in a tone which implies that agreeing is the significantly less painful option. “But first, why the teeth?”

“Yes, that’s been bugging me. Actually, not bugging me,  _ offending _ me. Bad enough you kill, why take a tooth from the victim?” she asks.

The figure raises a gloved hand to its face mask, pulling it off slowly to reveal a blue face studded with teeth like rhinestones on a tacky dress. Theta sees the grimaces of the humans at the sight, and she doesn’t blame them; that’s just wrong. He bares his own teeth and hisses, “A Stenza warrior wears his conquests.”

She can see, on the edge of her periphery, Koschei rolling his eyes.

“You may tell your children you were once privileged to encounter Tzim-Sha of the Stenza,” he continues.

She tilts her head. “Tim Shaw?”   


“Tzim-Sha.”

“Tim Shaw.”

“ _ Tzim-Sha! _ ” he snarls. “Soon to be leader of the Stenza warrior race, conquerors of the Nine Systems.”

Koschei laughs. “‘Soon to be leader’? Let me guess: you’re here to prove yourself to your people, and you don’t think you can actually do it alone, so you brought your little pet along to cheat. Oh, don’t look so offended, once you’ve seen one insecure ruler who’s steering their people straight towards disaster you’ve seen them all.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you,” Theta mutters before she can stop herself.

A sneer spreads across Tim Shaw’s face as Koschei shoots her a glare. “Dissent in the ranks? How do you intend to stop me with your troops if you cannot work together?”

“They aren’t my troops. Especially not him. He’s more of a perpetual annoyance than anything else,” she says. “Either way, doesn’t matter. We’re going to end this, tonight, whether you like it or not, Tim Shaw.”

He scowls and raises a hand. His palm begins to glow with a bright white light that does not bode well for her humans’ safety. She jumps back and says, “Okay, fine, have it.”

He circles around to the gathering coils as the rest of them back away. Kneeling, he extends both hands and begins to draw the information out of the coils, just as she’d hoped.

“What’s he doing?” Ryan asks.

“Total transference,” Koschei says.

Tim Shaw stands again and faces them. 

“If you’ve finished, let’s be really clear,” Theta says. “You’re not taking any human from Earth tonight. Leave now, or we’re gonna stop you.”

“Good luck,” he replies, before kneeling down again in a flash of light and disappearing.

She flinches back before she can stop herself, then realizes. “No, short range teleport! Ugh, double cheat!”

“Where’ve they gone?” Yaz asks.

“To hunt,” says Koschei, ever one for drama.

“Hunt who?” asks Ryan.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Theta says.

They’re all back in Grace’s car, heading towards the main city as fast as they can. Koschei’s up front again, Theta sitting between Yaz and Ryan, fiddling with a long piece of pipe as they search up Karl in hopes of finding him.

“Okay, now, I’ve got a question,” says Graham after a few moments. “When you were talking to that alien bloke, and he asked who you were, you said he,” Graham nods his head towards the passenger seat, “was a homicidal maniac. Were you being serious? ‘Cause I don’t want to escape some alien just to get murdered.”

“Oh, she was being completely serious. I’m pretty sure I’m banned from at least 70 planets for conquering them, technically including this one, and there’s quite a number of devil figures that resemble me in the mythologies of a good dozen more,” Koschei says, flippantly, as if this were normal. “You remember Harold Saxon?”

“Yeah, I voted for him,” says Graham. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“That was me. Part of a plot to rule the world, which  _ she _ ruined. And when London got infested with Cybermen a few years ago? Also me.”

“Still can’t believe you thought that was going to actually work,” Theta mutters.

“It was a perfectly good plan,” he snaps. “You just decided to be all  _ morally righteous _ on me.”

Ryan pipes up, “But she said you were working on it, right? So, are you good now or something?”

Koschei whirls around to face Ryan and snarls, “ _ No. _ I’m not  _ good _ , and neither is she. If you aren’t dead by the end of this and you do stick around, you’ll see what I mean.”

Theta shrinks into herself at that, the urge to prove him wrong overwhelmed by the crushing, soul-deep guilt of those memories. She remembers exactly how  _ close _ she had been to agreeing, taking the Cybermen and doing precisely what he had suggested and going off and ‘saving’ everyone. He makes eye contact with her, smirks just a little bit, and turns back around. She ignores the way the humans look at her, the uncomprehending pity in their eyes. It’s a long couple of minutes before anyone speaks.

“Karl’s number’s going straight to voicemail,” Yaz sighs.

“Got him!” Ryan announces. “Karl Wright, operator for Skylark Building Services.”

“I know where that site is, ain’t far,” says Graham. “Here, Grace, next right, love.”

Grace turns onto the road, and a pair of cranes tower in the distance.

“Knowing your luck,” Koschei says to Theta, as if nothing had ever happened, “he’s a crane operator.”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t speak until they enter the work site and find another dead body with a radio in his hand, and she says, “I hate it when you’re right.”

“It’s over there,” Ryan gasps, pointing towards the figure scaling one of the cranes.

“And that creature’s guarding the bottom of it,” Graham says.

He’s right; the gathering coils are sparking and glowing near the base of the crane. She looks around and groans. There’s too many people milling around for her to handle and get to Karl in time. She needs a distraction.

“Kos, Graham, Grace, need you to take this equipment and get everybody off this site,” she says. “Don’t care how, use your initiative. Kos, once you’re done, see if you can’t get rid of the gathering coils. Graham and Grace,  _ do not _ come back in, understand?”

They nod, though Koschei looks a little annoyed, and she turns to the other two. “Ryan, Yaz, how are you with machinery? And heights?”


	7. Acrophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than I planned; I wanted to do all of the final confrontation in one go, but thanks to being American and having to witness the Superb Owl, I didn't have time to write all that and update tonight. So, you guys get a cliffhanger instead! The next chapter will be up either Monday or Wednesday, whenever I get the chance. Enjoy!

Theta takes off towards the second crane, Ryan and Yaz close behind her. She doesn’t look to make sure Koschei listened, because she can’t afford to be distracted, has to keep her mind on saving Karl. She begins climbing up and says, “The gathering coil is guarding Karl’s crane right now, so we go up this one.”

“What do we do when we get up there?” Yaz asks.

Theta looks down. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan!”   


“Really?” says Yaz, disbelieving. 

“Well, I will have by the time we get to the top,” she says, and then starts climbing the ladder.

Below, Koschei is deeply annoyed. She has a plan, he knows it, but she won’t tell him what it is. It’s infuriating. A tiny part of his mind points out the irony of this, and he promptly ignores it. Graham and Grace are already pulling on reflective yellow vests, but he knows that plan will take too long, and he has to have some kind of standards. Watching the small crowd of humans move, he gets an idea. It’s the sort of idea Theta would at least pretend not to approve of, but he’s too annoyed to care; she  _ did _ say to use his initiative, and it’s been far too long since he practiced his hypnotism. He steps closer to the crowd.

“Everyone, look over here, please!” he shouts.

Most of the humans turn, intrigued. He grins.    


“Now, you are going to leave immediately. You’re going to head back to your homes and forget any of this ever happened. Understood?” Telepathic suggestion laces his words, an undertone that doesn’t so much demand as persuade. He sees eyes glaze over as they nod and turn to leave. The few stragglers who didn’t hear him or were naturally resistant follow their coworkers out of herd mentality, and in less than a minute, the site is cleared.

Graham and Grace stare at him.

“Hypnotic suggestion,” he says. “Quicker and more efficient than whatever you were planning. Now, shoo. You’re supposed to be leaving as well.”

And if he puts just a hint of hypnotism into his words because, despite what he says, he doesn’t want them getting hurt if he can avoid it… well, nobody needs to know.

Theta is halfway up the crane when she spots Tim Shaw getting a little too close to the operator’s cabin for comfort. Well, she’ll just have to move the plan(she has a plan, now, and it should work) forward a bit.

“OI! KARL! FROM THE TRAIN!” She screams, waving her arms frantically to get his attention. “UP AND OVER! UP AND OVER!”

She can see him climbing up through the roof of the cabin, and that’s good enough for now. Glancing up and seeing exactly how much further she has to go, she sighs. Better get climbing.

She makes it to the operator’s cabin before Yaz and Ryan, which isn’t very surprising, despite her brief stop to grab a ring of keys. She has enough time to look down and see that the work site has been cleared before she needs to help pull Ryan up onto the platform, Yaz just behind him.

“We made it!” He cheers, then looks around. “Oh… oh no, no, no, no, no. It’s way too high up here.”

“What’s the plan? You said you’d have a plan,” Yaz demands as Ryan leans against a pole, looking sick.

“I’ve got one. I climb on to the arm of this crane, you swing the arm ‘round next to Karl’s crane,” she says.

“Oh, no, you’re kidding,” Ryan groans.

“Karl steps across,” she continues, “you swing the arm away, I get him back in here, all back down for a cuppa and a fried egg sandwich. I’m really craving a fried egg sandwich. Simple, no?”

“Not really,” says Yaz, looking at her like she’s insane.

“Alright, it’s a work in progress,” Theta admits. “But so’s life. It’ll be fine! Oh! I got these downstairs,” she digs through her pocket for the key ring and hands it to Yaz, “one must work. You can figure out how to work a crane, right? Go.”

Shoving past them, she continues up the ladders until she reaches the top. She leans between two of the railing struts and sees all of Sheffield laid out below her. “Yep! Way too high,” she mutters.

  
  


It wasn’t hard for Koschei to disable the gathering coils; one blast from his sonic pen had done the job nicely. That was the issue with bio-tech, it was so fragile. The real problem now was climbing a crane in a dress and a pair of heeled boots too small for him. If Theta was planning what he thought she was planning, then the quicker he could get up there to help when it inevitably went wrong, the better.

  
  


The arm of the crane begins to swing - in the opposite direction of Karl’s.

“Wrong way! Wrong way!” Theta shouts, hanging onto the railing as it moves.

The arm reverses directions, bringing her back towards Karl.

“Hiya! Again!” she calls.

“What’s going on?” shouts Karl, clinging to the railing.

“When the arms line up,” she says, “just step across!”

He turns and looks frantically over his shoulder; luckily, Tim Shaw hasn’t reached the top, yet. They don’t have much time left, though. He needs to move quickly.

Then a horrible screeching noise fills the air and Theta’s crane stops moving, almost two meters lower than Karl’s. Something must have jammed, and at the worst possible time. It just  _ figures _ .

“How am I supposed to get across there now?” he yelps.

“When I said ‘step’, I obviously meant jump!” she says, demonstrating with her arm. “Jump across.”

“I can’t do that!” he protests.

“‘Course you can,” she tells him. “Stand up, quick jump. Chop chop, I’ll catch you.”

Well, probably. She still isn’t too sure of this new body.

“I dunno,” he says. “I’m not great with heights.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s my dad’s company.”

The thud of heavy boots on metal interrupts her reply, and they’re officially out of time. Karl has to move  _ now _ , or else he might not get another chance.

“Pop on over!” she says desperately.

Karl turns, sees Tim Shaw, and squeaks, “Okay!”   


He leans over the edge, then back again. 

“I am special.”

“Yes, you are.”

He clambers onto the guard rail.

“I am brave, and I am gonna jump.”

“No time like the present!”

And finally, he leaps, feet swinging, arms flailing, face screwed up in fear. He makes it all of two feet before a gloved hand catches the back of his jacket and pulls him back onto the crane.

“Let him go!” she shouts as he gets dragged backwards.

“I’m sorry!” he cries.

Oh, she had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but, “If you want something doing…”

She backs up, takes a running start, and  _ jumps _ , arms outstretched. Her fingers just barely catch on the edge of the arm, and for a moment she’s dangling, helpless, over the empty void. Memories of her fourth self’s final moments flash through her mind. Then she’s pulling herself up, muttering, “These legs definitely used to be longer.”

As she’s yanking herself onto the arm, straining, she spots a figure climbing the crane. Good, he actually listened. She stands up, out of breath, and shouts, “ _ Oi! _ Tim Shaw! You stop right there.”

To her surprise, he actually does stop, releasing his grip on Karl’s jacket and turning to face her. Steam billows from his mask as he removes it, revealing his rather unfortunate face again.

“Augh, he’s got a face of teeth!” Karl says, more shocked than disgusted.

“I know,” she says. “I’ve got this. Let him go, or I destroy this.”

In an ideal world, she would have pulled the recall circuit straight out of her pocket. In an ideal world, none of this would be happening at all. However, in this world, it is happening, and she has to search through her pockets, frantically patting at her trousers and coat in a rather embarrassing fashion, growling, “Ugh, I really need a new coat!” before pulling out the circuit. “This!”

He tilts his head.

“The recall from the pod you traveled in. I took it out. Without this, you can’t get home,” she grins at the way his face tightens. “Yeah, see? Now you’re worried.”

He takes a menacing step towards her, and she sticks her hand out over the edge.

“If I fall, this falls with me,” she threatens. “Then you’re stuck.”

She can see Koschei, almost to the top of the crane. She just needs to stall a little longer. 

“What do you do with them?” she asks. “Your human trophies.”

“They’re held in stasis, in our trophy chambers, on the cusp between life and death,” he hisses.

“Left to rot?” she says, disgusted. “How completely obscene.”

He shakes his head condescendingly. “They’re not important.”

“Hey!” snaps Karl. “I’m important!”

“If I don’t stop you, your people will keep doing this.” It’s not a question; she knows what people who say that sort of thing are like. True evil begins with treating people like things, as a wise man once said.

“Give me the circuit,” he says, reaching up to press a button at his neck. “Or I detonate the bombs placed in your friends.”

“More weapons,” she sighs. “Did your pet put one in Karl, too?”

“What?!” Karl yelps.

“There was no need; he was tagged,” Tim Shaw says. “He is the trophy.”

“I thought as much,” and thank goodness she was right. Koschei’s reached the top now, and he’s creeping closer as quietly as he can. She just needs to stretch this distraction a little longer. “Right, you detonate the bombs, I destroy the recall. What are we going to do?”


	8. Doctor Who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the official end of the arc for The Woman Who Fell To Earth! There's still a little interlude I'm going to post probably right after this that's the Doctor and the Master shopping and figuring out how to get off of Earth, but this is the last chapter for the first episode. Thank you all so much for your support!

Tim Shaw is looking at her, clearly weighing his options. If he detonates the bomb, his way home, back to the people he so desperately wants to prove himself to, is gone - at least, as far as he knows. If he doesn’t detonate the bomb, he won’t be able to get his trophy. Return in disgrace or not return at all; now there’s a conundrum.

Luckily for him, he doesn’t get the chance to make that choice. Koschei’s managed the quite impressive feat of moving quietly in heels, and he’s close enough to freeze the mechanical suit with a pulse from his sonic. The high-pitched buzzing fills her ears, and Tim Shaw tries to wince, only to remain stuck in the same position.

“Do you have  _ any idea _ how awful climbing ladders in these boots is?” Koschei gripes, moving between Tim Shaw and Karl to talk to her.

“Who are you?” Tim Shaw snarls, venom in his voice and murder in his eyes.

She knows the answer to this, now. “Glad you asked that again! Bit of adrenaline, dash of outrage, and a hint of panic knitted my brain back together.” She steps toward him. “I know exactly who I am. I’m the Doctor,” and it feels so right to say it, to know who she is again, “sorting out fair play throughout the universe.”

His eyes flick to Koschei. “And him?”   


“Oh, me?” Koschei grins. “You might have heard of me. I’m the Master. And if you want to survive beyond the next five minutes, you’re going to obey me. I’m willing to bet that your suit can’t keep you insulated for much longer than that. Wonder what happens when a species meant to be at about 200 Kelvin gets exposed to temperatures at least 70 degrees higher than that. I would love to find out, wouldn’t you, Doctor?”

She shoots him a look, somewhere between ‘I hate you right now’ and ‘Don’t be mean’. He rolls his eyes and twirls his sonic pen between his fingers.

“Or,” he sighs, “we could do the much less fun thing, and you could take your little recall circuit and head back home. Tell your people you’re a failure and a cheater, maybe actually learn how to lead, and never even look at Earth again as long as you live. I’m not going to reactivate your suit until you say yes, by the way. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Tim Shaw speaks through gritted teeth. “Fine. I agree to this. I will return and avoid this planet.”

“See, not too hard, was it?” the Doctor says. “Now, I hope you aren’t planning to activate those DNA bombs as soon as he unfreezes you, because that would be the worst kind of mistake, seeing as I transferred them to your gathering coils right before you did a total transfer. Might want to get that looked at when you get home.”

A look of surprise flits across Tim Shaw’s face, chased by a scowl. “Of course not. I will keep my word.”

“Then I will keep mine,” the Master says.

He presses a button on his sonic, and there’s another buzzing noise, followed by a whir as the suit’s fans start back up.

“Here, catch!” She tosses the recall circuit to Tim Shaw, and he nearly drops it as the suit clearly lags a bit.

His scowl deepens, but he quickly presses the circuit to his chest and disappears in a flash of light.

“Is he gone? For real?” Karl asks, and oh, she almost forgot about him.

“Yes, and if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t be coming back,” she says. “Now, what do you say we get off this crane and find some place that serves fried egg sandwiches? I’m still craving a fried egg sandwich.”

  
  


Later, as they’re all gathered in a small cafe(minus Karl, who had just wanted to go home) that’s still open even at 11 PM, the Doctor catches a glimpse of an alternate timeline out of the corner of her eye. It’s a feeling of deja vu, as she looks out the window at the cranes; a feeling that someone shouldn’t have survived this. That she shouldn’t be in here, surrounded by laughing humans, sitting next to Koschei, enjoying a frankly amazing fried egg sandwich. That she should be back in Graham’s house, grieving the loss of yet another person she couldn’t protect, achingly alone. And then, just as quick, it’s gone, and she’s surrounded by friends and whatever Koschei is to her, she still hasn’t figured that one out, groaning at an absolutely  _ awful _ joke that Graham just made. And she’s happy and, for the first time in a long time, she feels safe. She feels hopeful. She feels loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, I got 200 Kelvin from the lowest temperature humans can survive(roughly -60 degrees Celsius or 213 K) and going a bit lower. I had to guess on the temperature for Earth at the time, but I figured 40 degrees Fahrenheit(4 degrees Celsius or 277 K) was a decent guesstimate, given that it was early fall and nighttime.


	9. Interlude: Shopping Montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an interlude to wrap up the arc. Also, I don't know if peach oatmeal is a thing in Britain but it's delicious(especially with walnuts) so I included it anyway

Grace offers to let them stay in her house as long as they need, and, lacking anywhere else to go, they accept. The Doctor sleeps on the couch(“It’s really quite comfy!”), while the Master takes the guest bedroom. They spend most of the morning sleeping off the stress of regeneration, and by the time they wake up, all four humans are ready and waiting to interrogate them.

“So, who are you two, really?” Grace asks, setting down two bowls of peach oatmeal in front of them.

“Well, that’s complicated,” the Doctor says. “I’m a traveler. I wander about the universe in my ship, which I _really_ need to start looking for, and sometimes I take people with me, show them the wonders of places they’d never get to see otherwise. Usually I end up in some kind of trouble, though. For a while, most of it was his fault.”

The Master looks slightly affronted. “Most of it? I was your archenemy for millennia, and all you say is that _most of it_ was my fault?”

She laughs and amends, “Okay, fine, a lot of it. 90%, probably. Then I saved him from getting executed, and in exchange he agreed to try to become less evil. It’s a work in progress.”

“Wait, archenemy? I thought you said you were her friend,” Ryan says.

“Friend, enemy; once you’ve been chasing someone for a couple hundred years the reason why gets a little blurry,” the Master says, waving a hand vaguely.

“How old are you, exactly?” Graham asks. “You keep talking like you’re thousands of years old, but you don’t look it.”

The Doctor pulls a face. “Uhh, somewhere between two thousand and four billion years, depending on how you count. It doesn’t really matter, though.”

“I lost track around my blond self. Getting dragged back and forth through a time lock will do that to you,” says the Master.

“You said you were aliens, but where are you from?” asks Yaz.

“Planet called Gallifrey. Right now it’s in a sort of pocket universe separate from everywhere else,” says the Doctor. “It got destroyed in a war, then it got un-destroyed, and to be honest with you I’m still not sure how. I know there were a lot of different versions of me involved, and any sort of timeline-crossing gives me an _awful_ headache, so…”

The Master glances at her, almost daring her to mention that she was the one who destroyed Gallifrey. She ignores him; he knows as well as she does it was necessary, though that doesn’t stop the guilt when she stops and thinks about it for too long.

“Now, if we’ve satisfied your curiosity for today, what’s the plan?” she says, bright and desperate to distract them.

“Well, first, you two need to get out of those clothes,” Yaz says with a teasing grin.

She looks down and sees the tattered remains of her old suit. Maybe Yaz is right. Koschei’s dress is a dirty torn mess, and neither of their outfits fit right anymore.

“Right! Yeah. Been a long time since I’ve bought women’s clothes,” she says.

  
  


The humans don't go with them, and the Doctor is more than grateful. Shopping is so much worse as a woman, and she spends the entire time in the bra store deeply confused. She doesn’t know what the letters and numbers mean, she put the first one she tried on wrong and got stuck, and Koschei spent the whole trip laughing at her.

“I spent decades in a corset, and you can’t even figure out a sports bra,” he teases as she complains to him on the way to the next store.

“It’s hard! Why do I have to wear these?” she says.

“Because, dear, human society says so,” he sighs, patting her arm.

"I don't even see why I need to change what I wear! I like suits," she complains.

"And you can keep them if you really want, but your precious humans won't take it well," he points out.

She sighs, nods, and takes his hand in hers. He very carefully doesn't say anything.

The next store goes over slightly better. The Doctor finds a long coat, light grey on the outside and a dusty deep blue inside, and falls in love with it.

"It's got amazing pockets, look!" she grins, sticking half her lower arm into each pocket.

The Master rolls his eyes and mutters, "Thousands of years and she _still_ doesn't have a sense of fashion."

She ignores him and buys the coat, as well as a rainbow shirt she found. It takes until the next store to find a pair of trousers she likes, and the one after that yields a pair of sensible boots.

Once her outfit is complete, the Master drags her to a completely different section of shops, full of the kind of clothing she'd expect to see at an office party. Suits, plain shirts, all boring and dull and not at all like what she expected him to look for.

"I was expecting something more exciting," she admits.

"Oh, just you wait," he grins.

He turns off the main road onto a alleyway, and then into a little shop she doesn't catch the name of. It's cozy and close-packed. He moves quickly through the rows of suit jackets, collared shirts, and trousers, grabbing a few things as he goes. The back of the store has a few changing rooms, and he steps into one.

A couple minutes later he comes back out, wearing a black collared shirt with silver embroidery under a deep purple suit jacket with matching trousers. He spreads his arms and grins. "What do you think?"

She scrunches her nose. "Very dark."

"It'll make for a nice contrast with your coat," he replies, ducking back into the changing room to grab the remnants of his dress.

He leads her across the store to the counter, and pays quickly. As they step back outside, she says, "We should get working on finding my TARDIS."

They spend days working on a way to use the leftover supplies in the warehouse to track the residual Huon particles from the TARDIS. The Stenza technology is a pain to work with, complicated and annoying to translate into Gallifreyan. The energy signal leads to a planet several galaxies away, and it takes them another three days to build something that _should_ take them there.

They need a few extra pairs of hands, and when the Doctor mentions that they're almost done, the humans jump at the chance to help. Grace has to work, however, so it ends up being Graham, Ryan, and Yaz, all gathered around the contraption, holding cables and clamps and other miscellaneous bits.

“Okay, now Graham, you hold this steady. Yaz, thread that cable through - yup, right there! Ryan, when I say go, flip that switch,” the Doctor says, standing in the epicenter of a mess of parts as she directs them.

The Master is standing next to her, holding the TARDIS tracker. Knowing their luck, they won’t land exactly next to the TARDIS, so having the tracker on hand should cut down on the search time. She turns to him, grins, and shouts, “Go!”

Ryan flips the switch, something beeps, and then, before she can even say something like ‘Bye!’ or ‘Wish me luck!’, she’s seeing stars. Literally. All five of them are floating in the vast expanse of space, and the Doctor has no way to fix it.


	10. Rough Landings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the flu and I feel miserable. On the bright side, I was at home all day because I didn't feel good enough to go to class, so this chapter is longer than usual! You're welcome

The Doctor wakes up, instinctively reaches her mind out, and immediately panics. The Master’s gone, his telepathic signature isn’t close anymore, she doesn’t remember how she got here, _where did he go?_ Wait, no, there he is. Still there, just distant, blurry. She can feel him in the very back of her mind, and a faint sense of anger from him, and she really hopes he doesn’t kill anyone. They're too far away for telepathy, but she projects a feeling of calm toward him, and feels his own annoyance in reply to her meddling. Well, at least he's calm enough to do that.

Then, she finally takes in her surroundings; she’s in some kind of medical pod, upright in what looks like the dingiest spaceship she’s ever seen. There’s a piercing beeping she can’t ignore when she steps out of the pod, and naturally, she heads straight for the source. Behind a set of doors is a humanoid man, sitting in one of the control chairs in a cockpit clearly designed for at least three pilots, and the source of the beeping - a wide variety of warning messages spread across 5 screens, blinking red and urgent.

“Oh, good, you’re awake -” he starts, before she interrupts him.

“What are you doing flying this death trap?” she demands. “The thing’s halfway falling apart as-is and here you are attempting planetary orbit and descent? Are you mad?”

He looks more offended than guilty, which only increases her annoyance.

“She’s just fine! And I don’t see what makes you so qualified to criticize my flying, madam,” he snaps.

It takes her a second to realize he meant her(she still isn’t used to the whole “ma’am” and “miss” thing), but then she retorts, “I’ve been flying longer than your civilization’s been around, I think I’m qualified. Now, what are you even doing out here?”

“Fine thing for you to ask; you showed up out of nowhere and’re lucky I even scooped you and that friend of yours. Don’t even think she was breathing,” he says.

Her eyes widen - Yaz! She dashes back to the medical pods and yes, Yaz is in the one right next to the one she’d come out of. Her chest is moving, but just barely. The Doctor runs back into the cockpit. “She’s alive,” she says.

The man raises his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“Now, like I was saying, what’re you out here for?” she asks. “None of the equipment on this thing makes any sense!”

“Stop insulting my ship! This is one of the best crafts around!”

“Well, I’d hate to see the others.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do! Your power’s failing across three sections, this ship is on the verge of total shutdown!”

“How can a planet be in the wrong place? Should’ve been back there where I scooped you up. We should be in its gravity belt by now,” he mutters.

She glares. “Well, we’re not.”

“I can see that!”

“Hi,” says Yaz, and good, she was right, Yaz is fine. One less thing to feel guilty about. “I can smell burning.”

The Master has gone straight past annoyed, pissed off, and angry, and right into furious. How many times did he warn her to check the calibration? How many times did he remind her to turn off the auto-lifeform detection? How many times did he tell her to turn on the emergency shielding? And did she listen? Of course not! And now he's on this rickety excuse for a spaceship with a pilot who wouldn't know a spatio-temporal stabilizer if it hit her in the face, stuck with two of the humans who got dragged along.

He's too busy fuming at first to notice that the Doctor's woken up, wherever she is, until she sends a pulse of reassurance through his mind. He scowls at her audacity, and deliberately projects a sense of annoyance back.

"You good there, mate?" Graham asks, watching him carefully.

He turns and focuses his glare on him. "No, not particularly. I'm on a ship that ought to have been in a junkyard decades ago, babysitting a pair of the Doctor's little pets, with no idea where she is."

"Oi, we don't need babysitting, and we’re not pets! And we don't exactly want to be here either," he retorts.

The Master rolls his eyes. "You're the Doctor's tagalongs of the week, and she's off somewhere else, probably with the other one. I'm the only intelligent being on this ship, therefore - babysitting."

“Stop bickering back there, I need to focus!" the pilot finally speaks up.

“On what, crashing us into this planet even faster?” he snaps.

“Figures he’d leave you for me to pick up,” the pilot mutters. “But joke’s on him, I still found the Final Planet. Even though it was in the wrong place, I found it!”

“What do you mean, Final Planet?” Ryan asks. “How can a planet be final?”

The pilot laughs, and it’s high pitched and annoying and he is very firmly resisting the urge to strangle her right then and there, because he doesn’t know how to steer this ship and doesn’t have time to learn. “You are very funny, little bonus.”

The ship begins to rattle harder and the planet they’re heading towards is getting rapidly closer.

“Landing ahead, lock yourselves in,” she says. “It’s going to be bumpy.”

  
  


“Yaz, you need to stay locked in the medipod,” the Doctor says, gently pushing Yaz back toward the pods. If they manage to land, and the landing is as rough as she expects it to be, she’d rather keep Yaz safe.

“Where’s Ryan and Graham and your friend?” asks Yaz. 

Wait, there’s something in the distance. “There!” she exclaims. “The planet’s there!”

“How can it be there?” the man wonders.

“Does it even have a name?”

“Only a symbol, or a warning. Closest word is Desolation,” says the man. He gathers himself. “Right. I can do this. I am not going to be beaten. _Move!_ I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

He shoves past Yaz, checks one of the screens, then kneels down and pulls off a section of grating on the floor, revealing…

“Manual shield activation?” the Doctor says incredulously. “Wow, this thing should be on Antiques Roadshow.”

He yanks up the handle, twists it, and stands. “Right, blast shields up! Don’t know how long they’ll last for, though.”

“Brilliant,” she snaps. “‘Bout to crash-land on Desolation. Real grounds for optimism.”

“Do you not understand anything? I can’t even get us there, because of the fuel -” he tugs a few wires out of place and winces as sparks shower the area, “because of the fuel I wasted picking you two up!”

Yaz leans against a wall, a look of shock spreading across her face. “I’m on a spaceship. Okay.”

The Doctor thinks, and then realizes. “I can get us into the atmosphere,” she says. “if we jettison the rear section.”

He gets up in her face, entirely too close for her liking, and she gets a very Koschei urge to shove him back. “Listen to me. Nobody is jettisoning _anything_. This is Cerebros, all right? She’s the envy of millions!”

She makes a face. “Really?”

“Yes,” he replies, looking annoyed. “People have written songs about her!”

The Doctor has officially had enough of this. She leans forward, hating the fact that she can’t loom over people properly anymore, and snaps, “They’ll be writing operas about our pointless deaths if we don’t take drastic action, _right now!_ ”

He stalks off to the other side of the cockpit, and Yaz(is Yaz still here? She should be back in the medipod) moves closer, looking panicked.

“We’re about to _die?_ ” she asks, eyes wide.

“Oh, sorry Yaz, forgot you were there,” she flashes a very fake-feeling smile. “All going to be fine!”

She steps toward the front of the cockpit, looks at the man, and says, “Five systems down! Six minutes left on life support. Are we doing this or what?”

“Oh, rekk!” he snarls after a moment. “Let’s do it!”

She nods and he stands, moving to the back of the room.

“Last stage anyway,” he says, grabbing a pair of packs and tossing one to her and one to Yaz. “Catch! And you.”

“What’s actually happening?” Yaz cries. 

“No need to panic, Yaz!” she says in what she thinks is a soothing tone. “We’re just going to blow the back off this spaceship!”

“ _What?_ ”

The Doctor grabs one of the connector cords and prepares to yank it apart. “Jettisoning!”

“Do it,” the man says, and with a quick tug she separates the two halves, then hears an awful screech at the back end begins to release from the main ship. The warning alarms get louder and faster, more urgent. She runs toward the controls.

“All systems offline, we’re not gonna make it!” the man shouts.

She grabs some of the controls, then realizes she needs to be somewhere else. “Extra hand here!”

Yaz comes running to take over, and the Doctor moves to the next section over.

“You can be honest with me,” Yaz says. “Are we gonna die?”

“One day, yes,” she says, frantically tracing patterns on the screen. Who uses Trezlackian for their computer system, it’s awful to work with! No wonder the ship’s falling apart. “Comes to us all. But not right now, not if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

She moves away from the screen and kneels on the floor, pulling up another section of grating. “This ship is old school; I’m good at old school!” Yes, the stabilizers are exactly where she thought they’d be. She gestures Yaz over. “Manual stabilizers. Pull these two levers up. They’ll pull down and to the left, pull them up and to the right as strong as you can.”

Yaz nods. “Got it!”

The Doctor stands, looks at the screen, and groans. “That descent pattern won’t work!”

“We’re about to die, and you’re still having a go?” the man says, disbelieving. “Think you can do better?”

She _knows_ she can. “Yes,” she says, sliding into the other seat.

“Doctor, these stabilizing handles don’t feel very stable,” Yaz calls.

“By the way,” the Doctor says as she steers frantically, “level three shield hazing.”

“What, seriously?” groans the man. “Drive power failure. We’re heading into the gravity belt!”

They careen towards the planet, and as they grow closer she thinks she can make out four specks down on the surface of the appropriately-named planet. Everything else seems bare, minus another spaceship parked a fair bit behind where they’re going to land. Lovely. Just the kind of place she wanted to end up. As they get closer, the specks resolve themselves into Graham, Ryan, some humanoid, and, thankfully, the Master. They’re close, close enough that if they don’t start running _now_ , they’ll likely end up crushed. Close enough for a quick telepathic message, too.

She doesn’t bother with preamble, just a quick, frantic “Contact.”

He answers not even a second later. “ _Contact._ ”

“ _You need to move. Now,_ ” she thinks, projecting an image from her perspective.

“ _Always have to make a dramatic entrance, don’t you, dear,"_ he replies, but she sees the four of them take off. 

Good, that should keep them safe. They collide with the ground, and she pulls up on the handles as hard as she can. Slowly, the ship skids to a stop on the sandy ground, and as soon as it stills she’s up out of her seat, running out of the ship through the still settling cloud of sand.

He’s there, waiting, looking somewhere between annoyed and fond. She rushes to him, ignoring Ryan’s shout of “Doctor!” and quickly hugging him. The telepathic link is still up, and she catches a flash of relief before he smothers it. A smug grin spreads across her face.

“ _You were worried,_ ” she teases as she pulls back from the hug.

“ _You made me babysit your pets,_ ” he snaps.

“ _You,"_ she repeats, “ _were worried. About me._ ”

His eyes narrow into what would be a glare, if it weren’t so soft. “ _I’m the only one allowed to kill you._ ”

“You two going to explain what’s happening, or keep staring into each other's eyes like that?” Graham calls from where everyone else is gathered.

“Right, yes, coming. No clue what’s going on, though!” the Doctor shouts.

She grabs the Master’s hand in hers and drags him toward the humans.

“Right, quick update,” she says. “I made a terrible mistake. We shouldn’t be here. I’m going to fix it and get you guys home, I promise. Soon as I figure out where we are.”

And that’s shaping up to be a lot harder than she thought. They’re all safe, for now. But they’re also stuck on a planet named Desolation, with no way off as far as she can tell. Not the worst place she’s ever been trapped, but certainly up there. She glances at the Master. At least she has company.


	11. Momentum Animorum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote like half of this in a coffee shop drinking a chai latte and feeling like the kind of person who, when asked about what they were writing, would say, "It's going to be a masterpiece. You wouldn't understand." except nobody asked me what I was writing and honestly I'm okay with that because my actual response probably would have been, "It's a,,, thing."

“Welcome to what I presume is your first alien planet!” the Doctor grins; despite the serious situation, the looks of awe on the faces of her little gang(? crew? fam?) are obvious. “Don’t touch anything. Come on, let’s try this way!”

She leads them down the hill, still holding the Master’s hand. He doesn’t seem to mind, and while she doubts he’s going to wander off like a human would, it’s still reassuring to know where he is. There’s the distinct sound of arguing behind her from the pair of people whose names she still doesn’t know. She should really ask them for their names. Before she can, though, a loud klaxon blares across the barren desert.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Here we go!” The woman takes off down the hill.

Well, that isn’t an explanation. “What’d you mean, here we go? ‘Here we go’ _where?_ To what?”

“Yeah,” says Ryan as they follow the pair, “where we actually goin’?”

“Come on!” calls the woman.

The Doctor puts her free hand inside one of her pockets, half-expecting them to be empty, but she was delighted to be wrong. “Oh! I forgot I put stuff in my pockets.”

The suns glare down as they trudge upward towards wherever their guides are going. It’s slow, and sandy, and horribly unpleasant. No wonder it’s called Desolation.

“All this sand is getting in my eyes something rotten,” Graham complains after a few minutes.

She reaches into an inside pocket and pulls out a pair of sunglasses. “Want to borrow my shades?”

“Oh, ta,” he takes them and puts them on.

“Like an old pair of mine,” she says. “Well, I say mine. Can’t remember who I borrowed them off, now. It was either… Audrey Hepburn or Pythagoras.” Probably Pythagoras, now that she thinks about it.

“Pythagoras never wore shades!” Graham protests.

“Oh, and you’d know?” the Master says.

“ _You_ would?”

“I’ve been to planets you could never dream of, but you can’t believe I’ve met one measly little human mathematician?” the Master rolls his eyes.

“I’ve met Shakespeare!” the Doctor adds. “There were witches. Well, not exactly witches, more like aliens mimicking witches. It was with Martha Jones, you remember her?”

The Master scowls. “Yes. Somehow, I think I do.”

“ _I didn’t mean it that way,_ ” she thinks; she really doesn’t want the humans overhearing this conversation. They’d ask too many questions.

“ _What, bringing up the woman who ruined my plan and is technically the reason I died and came back a starving madman?_ ” he snaps.

“ _Bringing up a friend of mine,_ ” she replies. “ _Who, note, left me because of what you did._ ”

He scoffs. “ _She left because she was in love with you and you wouldn’t have noticed if she had said it to your face. My helpful dose of trauma just gave her a nudge in the right direction._ ”

“ _She was not!_ ” the Doctor protests. “ _I would’ve noticed. I wasn’t_ that _oblivious._ ”

The Master raises one eyebrow.

“ _Was I? I wasn’t._ ”

He gives her the same look. The realization hits her like a truck. No wonder Martha’d been so annoyed when Rose showed up. And the “not if you’re blonde” comment Jack had made makes so much more sense now. She should really go apologize to Martha once she gets her TARDIS back.

“ _Gods, I was an idiot_ ” she thinks.

“ _Still are, dear,_ ” he grins, and she resists the urge to hit him on the arm.

They’ve finally reached the top of the dune, and she can see a white tent not too far ahead, standing out against the boring expanse of desert. A white tent that looks very out of place.

“Do you two know what that is?” she asks.

“It’s a tent,” the man(she still needs to learn his name) says.

“Well, obviously it’s a tent. I meant,” she watches as they walk off without listening. “Oh, nevermind. Come on, no dawdling!”

The Doctor follows them down the dune toward the tent, and after the man leads the way in, she stops and turns to her companions(no, not companions. They didn’t ask to be here and she doesn’t need to start thinking of them as companions. She needs to get them home, where they’re safe.)

“Be careful,” she warns. “Still don’t know what’s going on. Could be dangerous. Well, probably is dangerous.”

“Can I ask,” Graham starts, “if we are on an alien planet, with aliens, how can we understand them? Ain’t they talkin’ alien?”

He has a point. Up until now, she’d been assuming it was the TARDIS’ psychic influence, but that makes no sense; none of them have been in the TARDIS. In that case… 

“Let’s have a look.” She grabs Graham’s shoulder and turns him. As she pulls down the collar of his jacket, a faint magenta light pulses on the back of his neck. “Yeah, medipods have put implants into each of ya. Standard procedure. Checks for a universal translator, implants one if you don’t have one.”

“Really?” Graham says, annoyed. “Well, can people - and things - stop putting stuff inside me without my permission?”

Behind him, both Yaz and Ryan are frantically patting the backs of their necks.

“If I had my TARDIS, you wouldn’t need them,” she sighs. “Anyway, shall we?”

And with that, she strolls into the tent. The very suspicious, possibly a trap, definitely not trustworthy tent.

It’s dim inside, all gold and cream and light blue. Good color scheme for a tent, in her opinion. There’s cushions scattered across the edges, and a strange billiard-table-like object in the center. On the opposite side of the tent, there’s an ornate couch piled with pillows, and a man sitting there, looking very comfortable. It only makes her more suspicious; nobody would leave such expensive pillows on the sandy floor, and there’s a faint shimmer along some of the edges of the objects that suggests that this isn’t real. Very odd.

“This is lavish, for a tent,” she says. “I’m the Doctor. These are my new best friends, Ryan, Graham, and Yaz, and this is my oldest best friend, the Master. Now,” she leans forward and swipes a hand through the man’s chest. Just like she expected, her hand goes straight through and his image glitches out, as does the tent around them. “Ah, see, hologram. Thought it might be. Good one though. Love a good hologram. I was a hologram once,” she turns to the humans, grinning. “Three weeks. The gossip I picked up.” she turns back to the man on the couch. “What are you? Projection reality or AI interface? ‘Cause if you’re an interface,” she crouches down, “those are excellent nose hairs.”

“Who’re these people?” the man asks. She was wondering when he would get bored enough with the questions to ask that.

“Bonuses,” says the woman.

The hologram shakes his head. “No.”

“What?” the other man tilts his head.

“I told you,” the hologram sighs. “Bonuses and snaketraps are over.”

“They were hanging around in the starfield when we exited hyper. Are you saying we scooped them for nothing?” the man demands.

“Yes.”

“I sacrificed my ship!”

“Yeah, sorry. Some of this is my fault,” the Doctor says, facing the hologram again. “Hi. We were loads of solar systems away, we were trying to find my own ship, got a fix on it _here_ , and then it all went quite badly wrong, actually. These three are being very good not going on about it.” She gestures at the humans, then turns to the man from the ship. “Very grateful you came along. Can I ask, what is actually going on here, cause I’m confused. Are you confused?”

“Pretty confused,” says Yaz.

“Proper confused,” Ryan adds.

Graham pulls off the shades. “I’m way beyond confused.”

She glances expectantly at the Master, and he rolls his eyes. “Yes, alright, I’m a little confused.”

The hologram sighs, and begins to explain. They’ve intruded on an intergalactic race, a competition for a massive amount of money, at the cost of impossibly high risk. Their rescuers are the final contestants remaining, and their goal is to reach something called the Ghost Monument on the other side of ruins and whatever a mist swamp is.

“I know you prefer to ignore me,” the Doctor says, “but what is it, this Ghost Monument?”

“The site was named by ancient settlers,” the hologram replies. “It appears in exactly the same place every thousand rotations.”

She barely notices as the two competitors leave the tent. There’s a sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind about what that monument might be, and she _really_ hopes she’s right.

“What does it look like, this monument?” she asks.

“Does it matter?” he says as he walks right through her, and it’s an awful sensation. She sees the Master’s eyes narrow.

“Look at us,” she spreads her arms. “Five people, most of whom barely know each other, stranded on a planet called Desolation. No route trackers, no way off, and judging by what you’ve said about not drinking the water or traveling at night, very little hope of survival. I need all the information I can get, including - but not limited to! - what this Ghost Monument actually looks like when it appears.”

The hologram stares at her for a second, then raises his arms, pulling up a grainy, bluescale projection from the table. There’s a hill, and on top of it sits a familiar police box. _Her_ police box, her TARDIS, her home. Relief floods her body and she finally relaxes a bit for the first time since she woke up on an unfamiliar spaceship.

“That’s an old police box,” Graham says, baffled.

“Yeah, like the one on Surrey Street,” says Yaz. “Only the one in town is green. This don’t make any sense.”

“Makes sense to me,” the Doctor breathes. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much. That’ll do.”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help,” the hologram says.

“I doubt that,” the Master mutters.

The hologram gives him a cruel smile. “You’re right.”

And then the whole hologram disappears. The tent flickers out of existence, the man is gone, and so is the only image of her TARDIS, her precious ship. But that’s fine. She’s got hope now, and that means she can keep going. Now, she has a goal.


	12. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all thought I'd forgotten that Angst tag, didn't you...

“I’ve got a couple of questions,” says Yaz as they stand, blinking in the sunslight.

“A couple?” Graham asks as he puts the shades back on. “I’ve got a book full. But shouldn’t we keep up with those two before they get too far away?”

He points to the pair of competitors who are quickly walking away across the sands. They’ve already got a head start, and the way the suns are sinking lower every minute doesn’t bode well, considering the hologram’s warning against nighttime travel.

“Yes,” the Doctor starts walking, then turns. “Now, I know this is a bit of a shock.”

“Well, you could say that,” Graham agrees. “I mean, we have been dumped in space, we got spaceships crashing all around us and now we are marooned on a planet that everyone else is racing to get away from!”

“Not your best for a first adventure, dear,” the Master points out. “Didn’t you take Bill to a human colony in the future the first time?”

“Alright, anyone can focus on the negatives,” she argues.

“Well, what are the positives?” asks Graham.

“What he called the Ghost Monument, that’s my ship,” she explains with a hint of pride. “It’s here.”

“What, the old police box?” Graham says.

Ryan shrugs. “Didn’t look all that.”

The Master smirks and clearly considers making a snide comment. Luckily for his continued hand-holding privileges, he doesn’t.

The Doctor makes an effort not to be offended by this grievous insult to her ship. She fails. “It’s very ‘all that’ thank you very much! Don’t you see? We got it _mostly_ right! We tracked my TARDIS here, but the planet had fallen out of orbit. We landed where the planet should have been. It looks like the engines are stuck in a loop, phasing out of time and space. If we get to her when they phase in, I should be able to stabilize her, and then I can get you back home.”

“I’d ask what you did to her to cause that much damage,” the Master says, “but I think it’s your habit of regenerating in a closed area full of delicate circuitry that did it. How you’ve made it this long without something like this happening is a miracle.”

“Oi, you regenerated in her too, you don’t get to complain. If you hadn’t been in there the damage probably wouldn’t have been so bad,” she retorts.

“Oh, yes, because the difference between one massive dose of explosive Artron energy and two is really that important once you get the inter-dimensional engines involved,” the Master snaps. “Not like you’d know, you never passed that class.”

“Clearly I didn’t need to, since I’m the one of us who still actually has a TARDIS!” she points out, stepping closer to him. “Where’s yours again? Stuck in the bottom of a colony ship orbiting a black hole?”

“A colony ship _you left me to die on!_ ” he shouts in her face.

“You left me first!” she snarls.

“I changed my mind! What, you think I stabbed myself because he got too annoying? I was going to stand with you, and _you abandoned me!_ I was going to die because of you, and _you weren’t there!_ ”

A ringing silence follows this, and out of the corner of her eye the Doctor sees the humans glancing at each other awkwardly.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers finally, quiet and broken.

“No, Doctor, you didn’t _care._ ” He sneers and turns away from her, walking quickly after the two contestants.

She stands there, frozen, trapped, for a moment, before following him. She doesn’t try to catch up, doesn’t call out his name or reach out telepathically. The rage she feels burning in the back of her mind gives her a fairly good idea of what would happen if she did. As for her own emotions - she feels empty and painfully guilty. In the week and a half since they’d regenerated, she’d specifically avoided bringing up the Mondasian ship; it was too recent, too raw a wound to even glance at, and there she’d gone gouging into it with a great old rusty knife. She’d hoped, deep in her hearts, that Missy had changed, had chosen to stand with her, but she knew better(or so she thought) than to really expect it.

Yaz puts a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Are you-”

Is she what? Okay? Angry? Upset? Consumed with self-loathing? She doesn’t even know anymore.

“I’m fine!” she snaps, then plasters on a fake smile. “Really, I’m fine.”

She can’t upset them, not right now, when they’re stuck with her and the consequences of her _stupid_ actions. They need her to be calm and collected and clever, and right now she is none of those things, but she’s always been a good liar. Goodness knows she’s had enough practice lying to herself.

“You sure, Doc?” asks Graham. “You don’t look fine.”

She brightens her smile. “Yep, just peachy. Keep up, we don’t want to get lost!”

She can hear them talking behind her as they travel through an area littered with dead wood and cloth; remnants of whoever had lived there, now long gone. She knows they don’t trust her - and why would they? Some random aliens show up and accidentally drag you into their relationship issues on a planet that’ll probably get them killed, no wonder they’re worried about whether or not she’ll get them home. But it still hurts. It hurts that they can’t trust her, that she’s the reason they’re here and not safe on Earth, that she can’t keep her mouth shut long enough to avoid hurting everyone around her. She wants to apologize - to the humans for basically abducting them, to the man who rescued them for destroying his ship, to the Master more than anything for what she did to him - but she knows it won’t fix anything. It won’t teleport the humans back home, won’t restore the man’s ship, won’t let her go back in her personal timeline and save Missy…

Wait. Maybe she can do that last one. Maybe that’s how the Master got onto the TARDIS. Maybe, just maybe, she can fix at least some of what she’s done. Once she gets the TARDIS back, of course. A genuine grin spreads across her face, and she almost runs ahead to catch up with the Master and explain.

Then she sees the two competitors standing on the dock in front of a small boat, arguing. The man has his blaster pointed at the woman, and the Master is standing off to the side. For goodness’ sake, don’t people ever learn?

“Put the blaster down,” she says. “We all know you’re not gonna use it. No killing, no injury, no sabotage. Isn’t that what what’sisface said?”

The man looks at her. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t play by the rules.”

“Can you _get_ any more cliche?” the Master complains. “Either shoot her or don’t, don’t stand there acting all Reluctant Antihero about it.”

“Yes, thank you for the helpful commentary,” she sighs, then reaches her pinky up to the man’s neck. “See this?”

One quick press to his neck leaves him frozen. Good, she’s still got it.

“Nice move,” the woman says appreciatively.

“Thanks!” she nods, pushing the man’s blaster away. “Venusian aikido. Grand master pacifist. Temporarily paralyzes, while also being fundamentally harmless. Very clever, those Venusian nuns.” She turns to the man. “Shall I let go?”

He gasps for breath as soon as she releases her hold. She feels a little bit bad, but he had been threatening to kill someone.

“And this boat doesn’t work,” the woman says.

“Well, er, me and Ryan will take a look,” Graham offers.

“Will we?” asks Ryan.

“Yeah, well, those NVQ classes must be good for something. An engine’s an engine.”

“Not a space engine!”

“You don’t get to take charge here!” the man argues, straightening. “This is about me and her, fighting to win.”

“I think you’ll find that’s exactly what we’re doing,” the Master says calmly. “If you want to stay alive long enough to have a chance at winning, you’re going to accept the fact that we’re all going to the same place. Or, I could just push you into this river teeming with flesh-eating microbes and save us all the trouble.”

“He’s right,” the Doctor glances at him. He looks away. “If we get it started, we all get on board.”

“I know what this is,” the man says suddenly. “You’re part of Ilin’s game. Saboteurs, sent to throw us off.”

“You think the whole universe is out to get you, don’t you, Epzo?” sighs the woman.

“How’s your family, Angstrom?” he replies.

Her face grows cold, and she turns away.

Graham and Ryan head below deck to work on the engine. Angstrom checks over the rest of the boat, and Yaz tags along. Epzo is sulking on the riverbed. The Doctor and the Master are sitting on the dock, doing a wonderful job of pretending the other doesn’t exist.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor says after several minutes of silence.

“I’m sure you are,” he replies, and resumes fiddling with his sonic pen.

“I mean it,” she protests. “I’m sorry for leaving you. If I had known…”

“It’s hardly the first time. I escaped in the end, and that’s all you really care about, isn’t it?” he says. “That I live, who cares how, to continue tagging after you.”

“How did you escape, anyhow?” she asks; if she’s right, maybe she can fix what she did.

“No clue!” he grins sardonically. “Getting shot by your own self will do that to you.”

“It’s just, I had an idea,” she says. “I think that maybe I rescued you.”

He sighs, as if she’s missing the point. “I don’t need your misplaced guilt for what you did, Doctor. How I escaped doesn’t matter. Just leave it alone.”

She opens her mouth to argue, thinks the better of it, and stands.

“I’m going to check on Ryan and Graham. Don’t kill anyone while I’m away,” she says, only half joking.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of what might be a smile on his face as he does.

Maybe things really are okay, then.


	13. Engineering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today; I'm feeling a little off my game after such a busy week! And we finally get a hint towards the overarching plot(yes, I promise there is one!)

The Doctor catches the tail end of what she’s pretty sure is meant to be a private conversation between Ryan and Graham. It’s not her fault, really, she was standing there the whole time. They just didn’t notice, is all. She waits until Ryan asks, “What if it’s solar?” to announce her presence.

“Look at you boys!” she grins, walking under the tarp to take a look at the battery. “Light years from home, figuring things out.” She crouches down to inspect it. “Yep. Three suns in the sky, tri-solar engineering panels on the outside powering that battery.”

“Well, if it won’t start, maybe the panels aren’t lined up,” Graham suggests.

“Or maybe they’re not feeding the battery properly,” Ryan adds.

“Loving your work, boys,” she says. “Let’s take a look.”

The problem seems to be a little bit from A, a little from B. The panels are out of alignment, but so are the wires connecting them to the battery. Graham realigns the panels while she and Ryan fix the wiring.

“So, how’s it feel, being on an alien planet?” she asks as they work.

“Weird,” he says. “Like I shouldn’t be here.”

“I think that’s just this planet,” she mutters.

He laughs a bit at that. “What, a place called Desolation with no other people isn’t supposed to feel hostile?”

She smiles, and can feel herself falling into the familiar rhythm she has with her compan - no. They aren’t her companions. She keeps forgetting that. Can’t keep doing that. She needs to get them home, not drag them along on even more risky trips. She doesn’t even know if she wants companions, this time. Not after Bill. Not with the Master here too. It’s too risky for them. And yet, she finds herself hoping that, once she gets the TARDIS back, they’ll want to stay, just a little longer. For just a little longer, she’ll be able to justify bringing them along, risking their lives, knowing that they’ll leave, or die, or…

They finish rewiring the battery. When they turn it on, it makes a protesting noise, but seems to function. Good enough for her.

She heads outside to make sure they don’t leave anyone behind(again. The guilt rising in her stomach isn’t surprising, but it does ache.) Angstrom and Yaz are sitting along the riverbed chatting when she gets them, and the Master hasn’t moved from his seat on the dock.

There’s just enough room under the tarp for all of them to fit, though Angstrom and the Master end up standing. The Doctor can’t help the feeling he’s doing it to spite her, somehow. They move slowly upstream, the gentle whirring of the engine keeping the silence from getting awkward. Finally, Ryan speaks.

“Hey, Yaz, can you believe it?” he says, half-whispering. “Alien planet, man.”

Yaz smiles. “I know."

The Doctor scans the air with her sonic. The results are unlikely, to say the least.

“This planet doesn’t make any sense,” she mutters. “No other lifeforms except us and the microbes in the water; no people, no animals, no insects, no nothing. But he talked about the old settlements. What happened here?”

“No one cares,” Epzo says, pouring the contents of a clear capsule into his mouth.

“Don’t take him personally,” Angstrom sighs. “He treats everyone like this.”

“I don’t need other people,” Epzo grins.

“We all need other people, mate,” Graham says. 

“We’re all alone,” Epzo retorts. “It’s how we start, and end, and it’s the natural state of all points in between.”

The Master drags a hand down his face. “If you’re just going to be pointlessly nihilistic, shut up. I’m miserable enough without your commentary.”

Epzo grins again. “You know, when I was four, my mum told me to climb a tree. She made me climb until I was too scared to climb any higher. Then she told me to jump into her arms. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m your mum. I’m here for you, I’ll catch you.’ I jumped. And she moved out of the way.”

There’s a moment of horrified silence.

“Sorry,” Yaz says, aghast, “did you say your mum did this to you?”

“Smashed into the ground, broke this arm, shattered that ankle,” he continues, gesturing. “Then she stood over me and she said, ‘Now you’ve learned. You can never trust anyone in this life.’”

“That is messed up,” Ryan shakes his head.

“Best thing she ever did for me,” Epzo says. “I love my mum.”

“Yeah, she sounds terrific,” Graham mutters.

“Your mum was wrong,” the Doctor says; though she’s talking to Epzo, her eyes are on the Master. “We’re stronger together.”

  
  


It doesn’t take long for Epzo to drift off. After a brief conversation with Angstrom, the other humans are quick to follow suit. Yaz leans against Ryan, and Graham simply leans back against the wall. Before long, it’s only Angstrom, the Doctor, and the Master left awake.

The Doctor busies herself thinking about what might be wrong with the TARDIS, and how she’s going to fix it. If the Master’s right about the Artron energy damage, and loathe as she is to admit it, he probably is, then there isn’t really anything she can do to repair it except wait. The TARDIS will fix herself, eventually. It’s just a matter of time. As long as she can get the humans back home, she’ll have plenty of that.

She feels the Master’s mind brush against hers, questioning, and she lets him in.

“ _You must know you won’t be able to keep me, once this is over,_ ” he informs her as soon as she does.

“ _I wasn’t planning to,_ ” she replies.

He rolls his eyes. “ _Liar_.”

“ _I’m really not. I won’t stop you if you want to leave._ ”

“ _And let me loose on the universe again? Your morals wouldn’t let you._ ”

She sighs, and changes the subject. “ _Have you noticed something weird in the timelines recently?_ ”

He raises an eyebrow - she wasn’t exactly subtle. “ _Not really, no. What do you mean?_ ”

“ _Nothing major, just… When we were at that restaurant, after the whole incident with Tim Shaw, I felt something off. Like I was in the wrong timeline, somehow._ ”

“ _So the timelines were in flux around a fairly risky situation, big surprise._ ”

“ _More than that. I felt like you weren’t supposed to be there, like you were disrupting things,_ ” she thinks.

Another eyebrow raise.

“ _Not like that. Well, sort of like that. You know what I mean!_ ”

“ _A more unlikely timeline, then. Again, not seeing the issue._ ”

“ _And I’m not saying there is one. It’s just weird._ ”

“We’re almost there,” Angstrom announces. “I call not waking Epzo.”  
  


The boat docks on the side of the river, near the ruins of a towering building. The green and white stone has crumbled, but it’s still very impressive against the shrublands around them. The architecture is unfamiliar, which doesn’t bode well.

“Big set of ruins,” the Doctor says as they approach. “Wonder who those were built for?”

“Why do you even care?” Epzo complains.

“Where are those people now? And why are there so few signs of life? What happened to everyone?” she asks.

Epzo ignores her and sets off to the right. “Bye. Ha!”

“Good luck,” Angstrom says, taking off leftwards.

“You’ve already lost, Angstrom!” he taunts.

The Doctor holds out her sonic, scanning the ruins around them. Odd, very odd.

“What, we’re just letting them go, are we?” Graham protests. “How do we know what to do, where to go?”

“I did keep this,” the Master says, pulling the TARDIS tracker from one pocket.

“Wonderful!” she smiles. For once, something was going right. “First thing we have to do it make it through those ruins safely,” she explains. “‘Cause these readings are all over the place, and I don’t know why.”

They trudge up the sandy hill. As they reach the porch-like overhang in the front, she looks up at the sky. They’ve got maybe an hour until it’s too dark to travel.

“Those suns are starting to set. They’re moving way faster than I realized,” she says.

“Well, back in the tent, that bloke Ilin said, ‘Do not travel by night,’” Graham points out.

“We need to move, fast,” she agrees, and then turns.

In front of them are a number of hooded, robotic figures, each holding a laser rifle of some kind. The camouflage clothing they’re wearing doesn’t match the ruins, but seems more suited to a forested area. She doesn’t really have time to dwell on the implications of that right then, however.

“Whoa!” Graham exclaims. “They weren’t there when we came in!”

Before she can reply, the Master has his sonic pen out and activated. With a heavy clang, the robots drop their weapons to the ground. They deactivate with a whining noise.

“Robot guards,” she mutters, stepping forward to examine one. “Why would you need robot guards on a deserted planet?”

“A very good question, dear,” the Master says, “but we’ve only got about two more minutes until they reactivate, and if these things kill you I’ll be very upset. Get moving, it’s what you’re good at.”

She nods, and takes off up the stairs nearby. Despite the situation, she can’t help but grin in exhilaration. Whatever’s going on, she’s going to get to the bottom of it. Somehow.


	14. Below, Below, Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of chapter yesterday, I was super busy! To make up for it, I plan to post two chapters today. Hopefully. And how about that new episode, huh?

The top of the wall is also crowded with guards, all disabled by the pulse from the Master’s sonic pen. The Doctor wants so badly to take a closer look at one of them, but by her count they have 90 seconds until they turn on again, and she highly doubts they’re going to be polite when they do. She turns, makes sure the humans and the Master are behind her, and runs off along the roof with a shout of, “Come on! We’re running out of time!”

There’s a high, electronic whine; probably a sign that the robots are activating. They need somewhere to hide, fast. As they round a wide corner, she spots a small hole in the wall, leading to the interior of the ruins. Perfect.

“In here!” she calls, ducking into a cool, dark room. It’s still sandy - that seems to be the default here, unfortunately - but at least it’s devoid of potentially-killer robots. There’s a few targets around the room, but other than that, it’s empty.

The humans pile in, gasping for breath. While the Master isn’t quite as obvious about it, he’s doing the same. Must not have been joking about the new body not being a runner, then.

“Well done, all of you,” she says. “Nice running.”

She steps forward, and the nearest target shoots upward from the floor with an awful shriek of rusted metal. She flinches and steps back again. Glancing around the room, she spots something out of place. It looks like one of the robot guards, dismantled or destroyed, left to erode on the floor. Just what she’d been hoping for.

“Oh, what have we here?” she mutters, leaning down and scanning it.

“Got anything there, Doctor?” asks Yaz.

“Information,” she replies, and then looks at the readings. “Oh, that’s bad. They’re sniperbots.”

“So that makes this their shooting range,” the Master sighs. “You always bring me to the nicest places, love.”

“Does that mean we’re targets, too?” Graham says, worried.

She nods, mind busy with thoughts of how to get out of this place safely. There aren’t a whole lot of options, but she’ll think of something.

Ryan reaches down and grabs the sniperbot’s weapon. “If that’s the way it is, time to stop messing about.”

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Fighting back,” Ryan says.

The Master grins. “Ooh, I like this one. Good instincts.”

“No. Guns, never use them,” she says firmly.

“I distinctly remember that not being true,” the Master points out. She ignores him, and the looks from the humans.

“Put the gun down, Ryan,” she tells him.

“What’s your idea, then?” he argues.

“Outthink them.”

“You can’t outthink bullets,” Graham protests.

“Been doing it all my life,” she says.

Ryan shakes his head, grinning. “Nuh-uh. Sorry. Call of Duty, man. I’ve trained for this.”

  
  


Against her better judgement, she lets Ryan go. He probably won’t die, and it’ll be a valuable learning experience. At least, that’s what she tells herself as she listens to him yell outside. There’s a whirr of laserfire, then a bout of silence, followed by screaming that grows rapidly louder as Ryan comes barreling back into the chamber.

“Made it worse?” she snaps, eyebrows raised.

Ryan turns to her, eyes wide. “Just a little bit, yeah.”

“Now do you see why I don’t like guns?”

“Sorry to interrupt what seems to be the beginnings of a very parental lecture,” the Master says, not sounding sorry in the least, “but I believe we have company.”

The Doctor turns and sees a sniperbot - or rather, a pair of them. She ducks behind a pillar, gesturing the others to join her. They make it behind the targets just in time. A few blasts of laserfire light up the room in red.

“Don’t suppose you can repeat what you did earlier?” she asks, turning to the Master.

A sharp smile spreads across his face. “Now that we’ve got some of their technology on hand, I can do you one better, love.”

He reaches down to the mangled remains of the sniperbot and rummages around for a moment. There’s a beep, followed by a dizzying sensation she knows must be an electrical pulse. The bots collapse to the ground instantly. She smiles at the Master, and before she even really thinks, presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Brilliant! Come on!” she stands, leading the way out of the chamber.

“What was that, back there?” Yaz asks as they walk.

“Electromagnetic pulse. Fried their systems. Gave us another five minutes or so until they reboot,” she explains.

“That’s not what I-” Yaz starts, but cuts off as they round a corner and see Angstrom and Epzo, their guns drawn.

“What just happened?” Epzo demands.

“What do you care? You don’t care about anything,” she says airily, walking past him. She grabs a small device out of Angstrom’s hand. “Ooh, tracker, thanks!”

“How did you even do that?” Angstrom asks.

“She didn’t,” the Master replies. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Angstrom says.

“Amazing what you can learn from a sniperbot,” the Doctor says. “Like where their control commands are emanating from. Also, maps.” She looks down, following the image on the screen. “Which leads us… here!”

The room she turns into is small, only containing a large, elevated, manhole-cover-like door. The wheel atop it unscrews itself with a quick pulse from her sonic, and she raises the door.

“I want answers to this planet,” she says, looking into the tunnel, “and I think they’re down there.”

“You sure about that?” asks Graham.

“Nope!” she grins, and begins to climb down the ladder. Angstrom looks nervously down at her. “Come on!”

It’s dark underneath, only faintly lit by flickering light panels at even intervals along the walls. The Master’s the next one down the ladder, and he gives her a look as they wait for everyone else to descend. It’s not quite a capital-l Look, but it’s close, and she can’t for the life of her figure out why. She tilts her head at him, questioning, and he sighs and rolls his eyes. She turns; if he wants to be like that, then he can wait until he feels like talking.

“These tunnels run under half of the planet,” she marvels as they walk. “Think of the technology, the civilization, required to build all that. Then ask yourselves; where are they?”

Epzo grunts and rolls his shoulder - he seems to have gotten shot by one of the sniperbots before the Master disabled them. How unfortunate.

“How’s your injury?” she asks, without much sympathy.

“Painful.”

“I hope it’s made you reconsider your entire philosophy,” she says, completely serious.

“No.”

“Doctor!” Graham calls from behind.

She stops and turns. Graham’s pointing at the walls, which are covered in…

“Scorch marks,” he says. “All along the walls.”

“Not exactly encouraging,” the Master mutters.

“Still,” the Doctor says. “Best feet forward.”

It’s not too much further down the hall before she finds pretty much precisely what she was hoping for.

She gasps. “Big locked door. I love a big locked door.”

The Doctor pulls out her sonic and activates the lock-picking setting, which has been getting quite a lot of use. The big locked door becomes a big unlocked door, with a low clicking and grinding.

“Ominous,” she whispers.

The room behind the door is as only dim as the hallway, but it seems darker and colder, somehow. There’s a table, the chairs in front knocked over, bearing a backlit map of some kind. Test tubes fill a shelf against one wall, all yellowed and filled with mold. Everything is a uniform, mechanical grey, and very little of it seems comfortable. All the equipment looks fairly advanced, but long dead or broken. Dust covers every surface.

“What happened here?” she wonders, looking around in mounting fear and horror. Nothing good ever happens in places like this.

“There’s another room next door,” Yaz points out. “Will we take a look?”

“Yeah,” Ryan whispers.

Angstrom gently grabs the Doctor by the shoulder and turns her so they’re face to face. She looks desperate, tired. “I don’t want to be here. We’re off route, we need to move on.”

“You went into the ruins without knowing what was there,” the Doctor replies. “You want to keep going without knowing why it’s bad to travel at night?”

“Whatever happened here, it’s in the past,” Epzo says. “What’s it matter to you?”

The Master is suddenly beside her, scowling. Angstrom quickly removes her hand from the Doctor’s shoulder.

“Because, there’s a good chance whatever killed everything on this planet is either still around or kept notes,” the Master snaps, “If you want to win this silly little race of yours, knowing what happened will help. If you’d rather go off on your own and find out what’s out there first hand, none of us are going to jump to stop you. Not even her. Now, either go off by yourself and do your best to leave some hints for the rest of us about what kills you, or take a nap somewhere. Maybe, if she’s feeling generous, we’ll wake you before we leave.”

Epzo glares, clearly considers a snide response, and then stalks off to, presumably, take a nap.

The Doctor turns to face the Master, eyes narrowed. “I can defend myself, thanks.”

“I know,” he replies. “I was just sick of him. If I’m helpful, can we leave him?”

She can’t help the way her mouth twitches into a grin. “Maybe.” Her sonic outstretched and scanning, she looks around the room. “Now, _please_ , give me something that will finally make sense of this planet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I'm not projecting my dislike of Epzo onto the Master, that would be ridiculous...


	15. Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's the promised second chapter of today! A bit longer than I planned, but there wasn't really a good stopping point... Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: as of 10:44 EST, 02/16/2020, there are exactly 69 comments on this fic. Thank you all very much

The Doctor’s sonic screwdriver beeps quietly as she scans the room, specifically the table with the map. Interesting.

“There. That’s more like it,” she breathes. “Angstrom! Bring me that route mappy thing.”

Angstrom looks a little startled, but hands over her tracker. The Doctor points her sonic at it, projecting a holographic map onto the ceiling.

“If we sync it,” she mutters, “this shows us the whole network of tunnels. Your friend Ilin warned us not to travel at night. We could use the tunnels to keep moving while it’s dark, avoiding whatever’s on the surface.”

“It’s better than that, though. Look,” Angstrom says, pointing. On the tiny 3-D map, there’s a familiar outline of hills, much like what Ilin had shown her in the tent. “There’s the site of the Ghost Monument. This network could help us cut a diagonal through the route, then bypass most of the mountain terrain.”

“That would probably cut our travel time in half,” the Master agrees.

“Well, if you leave now,” Graham says, “you could get there before Sleeping Beauty. You could win.”

Angstrom nods slightly, considering. The image of the map glitches for a second, flickering into a simple pattern before showing the projection again. This time, it shows the other room.

“What was that?” Graham asks.

“There’s something through there,” the Doctor realizes, turning and dashing into the next room.

As she pushes through the flimsy plastic covering the doorway, she sees symbols carved into the floor. The TARDIS, distant and injured as she is, still manages to translate.

“What is it, some kind of cave painting?” wonders Graham.

“Almost. Left by the people who worked here,” she replies, though from what she’s already read, ‘worked’ may not be the right word.

“Can you read it? What’s it say?”

“‘We are scientists,’” she reads. “‘Abducted, tortured, and made to work while our families are held hostage. We are forced to find new ways of destruction. Poisons. Weapons. Creatures. We gave them our minds, and they made us the creators of death. This planet has been left scorched and barren from our work. The atmosphere and water are toxic. Killing machines and creatures inhabit every corner. We had no choice but to obey…’” she pauses. No, that can’t be right. Surely that isn’t right.

“The Stenza,” the Master says, quiet but full of rage.

“‘We are trying to destroy all of our work,’” the Doctor continues, fear growing with every word she speaks, “‘before they use it against others.’ There’s two words below that. ‘They’re coming.’ That’s how it ends.”

“The Stenza?” Graham says. “That - that’s the thing we stopped in Sheffield, right?”

“You know the Stenza, too?” asks Angstrom.

“Yeah, we stopped ‘em from killing someone,” Graham replies.

Angstrom’s face twists, grief evident. “I wasn’t so lucky. My wife died because of them.”

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor says, at a loss for anything else to say. She knows how it feels to lose a loved one, dozens of times over, but she’s never been good at consoling people.

“They took our planet, sent us into hiding, cleansed millions of us,” Angstrom sighs. The pain is still sharp in her eyes; the Doctor knows that feeling, too.

Before she can say any more, there’s a muffled scream from another room. The Doctor takes off running. She follows the shouting to its source and sees -

“Epzo!” she shouts.

He’s laying down, a pale strip of fabric wrapped around his body like a snake. It’s covering his mouth and nose, blocking his breath as he struggles and writhes. His fingers grasp at the edges, but to no avail. The Doctor pulls out her sonic, hoping to do _something_ , but…

“Nothing’s working on it!” she snarls.

Angstrom yanks out a knife from goodness knows where and slices through a section of the fabric. It almost seems to burn at the edges as it drifts away, and then the rest of it relaxes, releasing Epzo.

“Did you have to?” the Master groans.

The Doctor shoots him a look. He raises an eyebrow in return.

“I’ve seen those before,” he says. “They’re scattered around the planet. Dormant until nightfall, if I had to guess.”

“Clearing up the wounded,” she whispers, horrified.

“Doctor! Found you!” cries Yaz, running into the room, Ryan in tow. “The sniperbots, they’re on their way down after us!”

The rest of the strange, animated cloth _things_ rise from the ground, undulating through the air like eels through water. They can’t stay here, they need to leave. 

“We need to get out of here!” the Doctor orders. “Everybody move, fast!”

As everyone else heads for the right door, she backtracks to the first one. It slides open to reveal exactly what she feared - a trio of sniperbots, none of which look happy(as far as one can tell, with sniperbots). She sonics the door closed and takes off after the rest of the group, pausing to sonic the door they came out of as well.

Her boots splash through the puddles on the floor, before she notices that she’s catching up entirely too fast. “Why have we stopped?”

“Listen,” pants Angstrom.

There’s an echoing, metallic clanging, and then a high whine.

“They’ve shut down the life support systems,” she realizes, “depriving us of air.”

“A man could really take against those robots,” Graham complains.

No time to fix it; better to just avoid the problem. “We need to get out of the tunnels.”

“It’s night!” protests Graham.

“This exit ladder will take us up and out to the surface,” Angstrom points out.

“What’s up there?” Yaz asks, craning her head back to look.

“Acetylene fields.”

“Acetylene? Like the gas?” asks Ryan.

“That doesn’t sound good, but we’re running out of air and options. So, let’s go up,” says the Doctor.

“Okay. Okay,” Graham breathes.

Graham leads the way up the ladder. Yaz, then Epzo, then Angstrom follow. Ryan’s next, but he hesitates.

“You okay?” she asks.

“It’s not my favorite thing,” Ryan says, “climbing ladders under pressure.”

And yet, he’s done it before, several times now. Humans - unstoppable as ever. “Can I just say, you are amazin’.”

“Am I?”

“Think of what you’ve gone through to be here. And you’re still going. I’m proper impressed.”

“Thanks.”

“If it helps, focus on facts about acetylene as you climb,” she suggests. “Did you cover it in NVQ?”

“Think we might have done, yeah.”

“Here’s a helpful one; it tends to explode very quickly, so it has to be kept separate from oxidizers. Since you can breathe out there, guess what there is in the atmosphere - oxygen! Have fun!” the Master says cheerily.

Ryan grimaces and begins climbing.

“There was no reason for that,” the Doctor hisses, hitting the Master in the arm.

“He was taking too long. We don’t have much time, and he needed motivation,” the Master replies, his tone low to match hers.

“What do you think I was doing? _That_ was not motivating. That was unnecessarily frightening.”

“Same thing.”

She glares at him and begins climbing.

  
  


“Oh! That’s some smell,” Yaz exclaims as they step out onto the surface.

“What is it, garlic?” Graham wonders.

The Doctor jogs down the slope, coat flying out behind her.

“Wait!” Ryan calls. “Everyone stop. Look, it’s like the ground’s movin’.”

He’s right; the strips of fabric, or whatever they are, are swarming across the ground. As they move, ribbon-like, towards them, a whispery voice says, “Finally. A big feassst of livesss.”

“Nobody move,” the Doctor says, firmly ignoring the panic crawling up her spine.

“Don’t let them touch you,” Epzo adds. “They’ll squeeze the life out of you.”

“Yesss. _Sssqueeze_ the life from all of you,” the voice echos; the tones are shifting and moving like the fabric-creatures, disorienting and dizzying.

“The talk is to distract you,” the Doctor says. “That’s how they were designed in that laboratory.”

“You can’t sssave them,” the voice whispers. “We sssmell your fear, too. Yoursss, and your friend’sss. The ssstrongest of all.”

“You want fears?” she asks, the beginnings of a plan forming in the back of her mind. “I’ve got a dozen lifetimes’ worth.”

“A dozen livesss?” the voice sounds pleasantly surprised. “We’ll take you firssst.”

The plan has a shape, now. It just needs to be put into action. “Remember any facts, Ryan? From when we climbed?”

“It’s lighter than air,” he offers.

“Yes! Smells like garlic, and lighter than air, that’s right. And one other thing about it,” she says, giving him a Look and hoping he won’t give it away. “But we’ll all have to dig deep for that, right?”

“What are they talking about?” she hears Epzo whisper to Angstrom. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up and dig!” Angstrom hisses back.

“You lead, but you’re ssscared to,” the voice says as a scrap rises, level with her. “For yourssself and for othersss.”

“Yeah, well,” she replies blithely, shuffling her feet in the sand, “who isn’t?”

A second scrap rises to meet the Master. “And you. You hide your fearsss well, but not well enough. Abandoned, betrayed, _alone_. But oh, that isssn’t all, isss it?”

He stays silent.

“Both of you, afraid of your own newnesss. We sssee deeper, though. Further back. The Timelesss Child.”

That catches his attention, both of theirs. It sounds - familiar, almost. Like a song heard on the radio years after you forgot it existed, and you can’t recall the name or what words come next, though you know you should. It makes her head hurt the same way paradoxes do.

“What did you just say?” they ask, simultaneously.

“They don’t know!” The voice is surprised, delightedly so.

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “What can you see?”

“We sssee what’sss hidden, even from yourssself,” the voice replies, and if it had a face she suspects it would be smirking. “The outcassstsss, abandoned and alone. Chasssing each other becaussse no-one elssse will ssstay. One isss willing to change, but it’sss never enough, isss it? If it were, ssshe’d have to admit you aren’t ssso different...”

The Master snarls. “Get out of our heads!”

“Now, we crush thossse fearsss from you!” With that triumphant shout, the scraps dart towards them, twisting and turning. 

“Enjoy your feast, whatever it is,” she says. “‘Cause, you know what some people like after a feast?” Ugh, he’s missing his cue. “Graham!”

He turns. “Huh?”

“Not _me_ , _some people_.” Her eyes flicker to Epzo, quick enough to miss. Luckily, Graham doesn’t.

“Do it,” Epzo growls.

“Oh, yeah,” Graham says, all polite British gentleman except for the glint in his eye. “A nice cigar.”

With that, he tosses it into the air - or rather, into the acetylene.

“ _DOWN!_ ” the Doctor shouts.

She snaps her fingers as soon as she sees everyone hit the sand. The cigar, brilliantly engineered as it is, self-lights. A wave of blistering heat washes over her as the acetylene and all the scraps in it burst into brilliant red flames. They stop mere inches above her.

“Third fact,” the Master says, and her head’s turned just enough to see his satisfied-bordering-on-smug grin. “It's very, _very_ flammable.”

“Good old acetylene,” she says with a matching grin. “See? Teamwork. Now, move. Come on.”

They crawl out from under the flames, leaving the scraps to burn. The suns are just beginning to rise over the mountains in the distance. The Doctor grabs the Master’s hand in hers as they stand, and they set off towards the finish line - towards the TARDIS, towards home.


	16. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the Ghost Monument arc. Next will be an interlude or two, probably featuring a trip to apologize to Martha. Heaven knows it's long overdue. Also, a bit of a warning: this upcoming week is tech/show week for me, so I'll be Super Busy. As such, this is probably the last update until Sunday, unless I manage another chapter today and save it for later. Once this week is over it'll be back to the regular posting schedule until my next tech/show week at the end of March for The Wizard of Oz.

The walk is long, and as humans are chronically incapable of staying silent for more than 15 minutes at a time(so is she, to be fair), it doesn’t take long for Yaz to ask, “So, as I was going to ask back when we were in the ruins, what exactly was that?”

“What, the electromagnetic pulse?” the Doctor says, baffled. “I explained that, didn’t I? Could’ve sworn I did. Maybe I just said it in my head; that happens a lot.”

“Not that,” Yaz sighs, like she’s being oblivious. “The - the _kiss_.”

The Doctor’s eyes widen. “Oh, that. What about it?”

“You just - you said he was your enemy, right? And a murderer, and banned from Earth for all kinds of awful things, and a _politician!_ ” Yaz says, and of all the things she lists, ‘politician’ is the one that sounds most like an accusation.

“Actually, I said the bit about being banned from Earth,” the Master points out. “And being a politician is a perfectly viable career for a human.”

“You aren’t… wrong,” the Doctor says. “It’s just more complicated than that. We’ve known each other since we were at the equivalent of kindergarten. It’s hard to explain, really.”

“No, it’s really not,” Yaz argues. “You don’t go around kissing your worst enemy on the cheek!”

“ _Best_ enemy,” he corrects, at the same time as the Doctor says, “Well, maybe _you_ don’t.”

Yaz throws her hands into the air in exasperation.

“Our relationship goes beyond petty human concepts,” the Master sighs. “We’ve been friends, enemies, and everything in between or adjacent. I’m not going to give you a thorough explanation of how or why, and I doubt the Doctor will either. To put it in terms you’d understand, we’re kind of… enemies with benefits.”

The Doctor scrunches her nose at that. “No, don’t say it like that. It sounds wrong that way. We’re more like frenemies.”

“Seriously? ‘Frenemies’?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

Yaz sighs again. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Just keep whatever it is you two are PG, please.”

  
  


The humans don’t bother them again for a long time after that. The Doctor can’t bring herself to mind; she needs the time to talk to the Master anyhow.

“ _That girl, Yaz. She’s got a crush on you,_ ” he thinks.

“ _No, she doesn’t,_ ” the Doctor replies; surely she’d have noticed.

“ _Do the words ‘Martha Jones’ and ‘utterly blind to human social customs’ ring any bells, dear?_ ”

" _I_ _know I was oblivious then, but I’m more aware now!_ ”

That actually prompts a laugh from him. She glares.

“ _Did you notice how she’s the one who asked about you kissing me?_ ”

 _"So? She’s curious!_ ”

“ _Yes, but that wasn’t ‘confused and wanting answers’ curiosity, that was ‘trying to see if the pretty alien who dragged me off into a life of adventure amongst the stars is single’ curiosity,_ ” he sighs. “ _Honestly, love, for someone who spends most of their time with humans, you’re rubbish at understanding them._ ”

She scrunches her face, but doesn’t say anything. After a few more minutes, she asks, “ _When that thing was talking about the Timeless Child… did you know what it meant?_ ”

“ _No. It sounded familiar, but… no,_ ” he answers.

That’s how she had felt. Strange. Well, she can worry about it later; they have a TARDIS to find.

  
  


The suns have risen fully by now, their harsh light beating down on the travelers as they walk. The rocky, mountainous terrain doesn’t make for easy movement, but they make steady progress. 

“We must be near now,” Ryan groans.

“It says we’re close,” agrees Angstrom, looking at her tracker.

She’s right. Atop the next hill sits the same tent from the desert, in all it’s suspicious, out-of-place glory.

“There,” the Doctor breathes. “Your finish line.”

“Ah, we made it,” Epzo gasps. The walking hasn’t been easy on his injury, and it shows.

“But where’s your ship?” asks Yaz. “Where’s the Ghost Monument?"

A good question. “It’s not here,” the Doctor realizes, panicking ever so slightly. “I don’t understand. It should be here. We did all this for _nothing?_ ”

Her hearts drop. Visions of all the painful and plentiful ways they could die while waiting fruitlessly for her ship to reappear flash through her head. The Master tightens his grip on her hand; it’s not quite reassuring, but it is grounding.

“At least you got here,” she says to Angstrom and Epzo.

Angstrom nods. “And now I’m going to claim my prize.”

“What? Your prize?” Epzo protests.

“I saved your life. You’d be dead without me,” she laughs. “And if I raced you now to that tent, you’d be dust. You’re a wreck, Epzo.”

“Who had the cigar, eh?” he splutters. “Me. That was mine. The cigar saved us all!”

Angstrom laughs again. “Seriously? Don’t even think I’m going to lose to you now.”

Ideally, neither of them would lose. They’d both done their part, and both deserved the reward. An idea takes shape.

“Uh, can I make a suggestion?” she says.

  
  


The pair enters the tent together, step matching step. They lay their hands on top of eachother and raise them triumphantly.

“Dual winners,” Angstrom says as the Doctor follows them in.

“With witnesses,” the Master adds.

“What? No,” Ilin says. “There’s never been a joint winner of the Rally.”

“There has now,” Angstrom replies.

“No. Will declare the final race null and void,” Ilin threatens, leaning forward.

Their hands lower slightly. Epzo steps forward.

“Ilin,” he says, leaning down, “you’ve made this a living hell for us. I promise you, whatever happens, I will get off this planet. And if we don’t get what we both fought for, I will hunt you down and ensure that whatever time you have left is both short-lived and agonising. Do we understand each other?”

He stands. The Master nods approvingly.

“Now, recognize your equal winners.”

“Pay the prize,” Angstrom warns, leaning close, “or pay the price.”

There’s a moment of silence, where the Doctor is briefly, deeply worried Ilin won’t listen, and then he sighs. “I am… honoured to declare a unique joint victory. An equal split.”

The Doctor smiles. At least one thing worked out.

“Now,” says Epzo, “get us off this rock.”

“Fine.”

“And them,” Angstrom adds.

Ilin laughs. “No.”

He snaps his fingers and the tent disappears, along with Angstrom and Epzo.

“ _No!_ ” the Doctor shouts, too late to do anything about it(always too late).

They were so close, _so close_ to getting off this planet, and even if it wasn’t by the TARDIS, it would have been enough for her to figure out a way to get the humans home. She could’ve found a way; stolen a ship, stowed away, called up an old friend for a favour, _something_. But now they were trapped again, with no food, water, or shelter, on a planet designed to kill. They were going to die here and it was her fault and she was probably going to make it out of this somehow, but it was going to be just her, alone again, and she’d have to bring them back to Earth, to Grace, and explain that she couldn’t protect them. She never could, in the end.

“We’re stuck here, are we?” Graham asks after a moment.

She nods. “I’m sorry.” It’s woefully little to offer in exchange for what she’s done, but it’s all she has. “I’ve failed you. I promised you, and I let you down.”

She expects a comment from the Master, something bitter and painful(and it’s what she deserves, now), but he only looks at her, face unreadable.

“We can wait. Can’t we?” Ryan says.

“No, we can’t. We’d be dead within one rotation,” the Master snaps, and she’s grateful that she doesn’t have to be the one saying it, the one crushing their hope.

“Who says so?” Graham argues. “We’ve come this far, ain’t we? Who says we’re giving up, any of us? Really? Even you, Doc? No. Come on, we ain’t having that, are we?”

This, she thinks as she watches them smile, is why she keeps them around. What is humanity if not a boundless font of optimism? Who else could find hope on a planet called Desolation?

“Can you hear that noise?” Yaz asks.

It’s faint, on just the edge of her hearing. But she’d know it anywhere, that sound. That wonderful, beautiful sound. A sound that brings hope across galaxies and millennia.

“Come on, please,” she whispers, begging the universe or any god willing to listen. “Give us this.”

She pulls out her sonic.

“It’s alright, it’s me!” she calls. “Stabilize.”

There’s a flickering, fractured image taking form atop the hill. The steps she takes forward feel like some of the longest ones she’s ever taken.

“Come to Daddy,” no, wait, not anymore, “I mean, Mummy. I mean, I _really_ need you right now!”

The sound grows louder, and then she’s there, her wonderful ship is there, golden and blue in the sunslight.

“Oh,” she gasps. “My beautiful Ghost Monument.”

She doesn’t even realize she’s running until she reaches the TARDIS.

“Hello, you,” she breathes, her hand on the door. “I’ve missed you. Oh! You’ve done yourself up,” she smiles. “Very nice. Lost my key. Sorry.”

The door clicks open and oh, she can’t wait to be home again.

“But it’s an old police box!” Graham protests.

“Then don’t come in,” the Master says, already behind the Doctor, one hand on the TARDIS.

“Just come on!” she grins. “Oh, word of warning. I left it in a bit of a mess.”

She steps inside and is stunned. The walls are covered in flat planes of hexagons, and the console is surrounded by columns of glowing amber crystal. It’s beautiful.

“Oh,” she says, eyes wide. “You’ve redecorated. I really like it.”

The Master is very carefully avoiding the console - the TARDIS is still a bit bitter about the paradox machine incident, and historically, she takes vicious delight in shocking him. The humans are inside now, too, looking around in wonder.

“This is my TARDIS,” she says, proud and delighted and _home_ at last.

“Wow,” Yaz gasps.

Ryan nods. “Yeah.”

“It was a police box!” Graham says.

“It still is on the outside,” she explains.

“How do you fit all this stuff inside a police box?” Graham asks, baffled.

“Dimensional engineering,” the Master says, as if it’s obvious.

“You can’t engineer dimensions,” Yaz protests.

“Maybe _you_ can’t,” the Doctor says.

Ryan steps toward the console. “Can I press any of these -”

“Nope!” she answers, quickly stepping between him and the console. He steps back.

“It’s a spaceship?” asks Graham, still confused.

“And a time ship.”

“Get out!” Ryan gasps.

“Seriously.”

“This,” Ryan says, “is proper awesome.”

“I thought maybe you didn’t believe me that I’d get you home.”

“I thought you didn’t believe yourself for a second back there,” Yaz points out.

“Who, me? No,” she says, glancing around the console. “Never doubted. Don’t know what you mean. Home, then?”

“No,” the Master says.

She tilts her head. “What d’you mean, no?”

“I mean,” he sighs, “that she’s still recovering from us regenerating in her. You’d be lucky to land in the right galaxy within the century, let alone the right planet at a specific time. Put her in the Vortex, let her repair herself for a few days, and then drop them off.”

“Since when do you care?” she retorts.

“Since I don’t have anywhere else to go, and I don’t want to get dragged along on another adventure of yours,” he says. “I don’t always have an ulterior motive, dear.”

She sighs; he’s right, and they both know it.

“Fine. How’s a few days of relaxation in outer space sound?” she asks the humans.

They nod. She pulls a lever and directs the TARDIS into the Time Vortex. As she does, she can’t help but smile. It feels good to be home.


	17. Interlude: Playing Catch-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Show week tired me out like nobody's business, and the new episode yesterday was Too Much

They spend almost a week in the TARDIS letting her recover. The humans learn to navigate the twisting corridors of the ship, and the Master learns that, while she won’t directly harm him, the TARDIS has no issue mildly inconveniencing him. His socks go missing with alarming frequency only to reappear in the swimming pool, his toast comes out just dark enough to be unpleasant to eat, his tea is always too hot at first but becomes freezing cold the instant he leaves it to cool, and all the books he wants to read in the library are on the highest shelf with no stepladder in sight. If he weren’t already mad, he would be well on his way there.

Halfway through the week, he’s had it. He tracks down the Doctor and finally asks for her help.

“Doctor, dear, please tell your ship to stop being a -” he begins, and then the next word just… doesn’t come out.

“What was that?” the Doctor says, poking her head up from under the floor where she’d spent the past three hours tinkering. Her hair is up at odd angles, her face is smudged with grease, and he hates the fact that she’s still pretty like that.

“Did you turn on the swear filter again?” he demands.

“No. At least, I don’t think I did. Have you done something to annoy her?” she asks.

“Not recently.”

She hums. “Well, then, I don’t know. Maybe she’s still upset about the paradox machine?”

“It’s been thousands of years! I’ve apologized, repeatedly! She wouldn’t even let me in to go rescue you from Mars until I practically begged her.”

The Doctor shrugs. “I’ll talk to her.”

After that, things are marginally less bad. His socks, though still disappearing, reappear in slightly less damp locations. His toast is at least edible, if he’s quick enough he can catch the tea at drinkable temperatures, and the books move down a couple shelves. The swear filter stays on, though.

  
  


Finally, the TARDIS is deemed travel ready. It’s long overdue. The humans have been getting antsy, and the Doctor is practically glowing with excitement.

“Now,” she says, dashing around the console, “grab onto something. This is going to get a bit bumpy.”

True to her words, the whole ship rocks as she steers them through the Vortex. Finally she lands with a thud. The Doctor opens a door, sticks her head out, and turns back with a grin.

“Right where we planned! Come on, team,” she pauses. “Team? Gang? Fam?”

Yaz and Ryan make matching faces of disgust at ‘fam’.

“Okay, team it is, then. Team TARDIS!” And the smile is back.

They’ve parked in the backyard of Graham and Grace’s home, and if the Master’s right, they’re only an hour after they disappeared. He probably could have gotten them closer if he’d helped, but he likes his fingers unburnt, thank you very much.

Graham lets them into the house, and it’s empty; Grace is probably still at work.

“Alright, team! What do you say we meet back here once Grace is off work, and explain what happened then?” the Doctor says. “I have something I need to do.”

There’s a general noise of agreement from the humans, and the Doctor and the Master head back to the TARDIS

“What are you doing?” he asks as she messes around with the console.

“Going to see Martha,” she replies.

He groans. “No. Please no. Don’t drag me along on this insipid reunion trip.”

“Never said you had to come,” she says. “You can wait in the TARDIS if you like.”

He considers his options. Either he tags along with the Doctor to meet with a woman who hates him(and the feeling is very much mutual), or he’s stuck in a ship that at the very least strongly dislikes him, without the buffer of the Doctor to protect him from her petty revenges. Well, one way he’ll get to see the Doctor try to explain regeneration to a medical student. At least that will be entertaining.

“No, no, I’m coming. Just don’t expect me to be polite,” he sighs.

She grins. “I know you better than that.”

  
  


The trip over to Martha’s house in Arkwright, New York was a quick one; the TARDIS keeps tabs on most of the old companions, after all. They materialize on her front lawn, right in front of her front door. Right as she’s walking out of the house.

Martha walks right into the TARDIS before she realizes something’s wrong. Her eyes go wide, and she nearly drops the purse in her hand.

“Doctor Martha Jones, lovely to see you again!” the Doctor says with a smile. “Sorry about the parking.”

“Doctor?” Martha asks. Her tone falls somewhere between disbelief and annoyance.

“Yep! New and improved! How do you like it?” she holds out her arms and spins, her coat flying out around her dramatically.

“It’s… a lot,” says Martha.

“Right, I didn’t just drop by to say hi! Had a reason. What was it again?” the Doctor mutters. “Oh! I wrote it down somewhere.”

She digs through her pockets. Finally, she pulls out a notecard.

“Stole this idea from my last self. Don’t think you ever met him, he was all Scottish and angry. I know you met the one with the chin and the bowties, though. Anyway!” She looks down at the card. “I’m sorry for being an oblivious idiot who completely missed the fact that you had a crush on me. I should have noticed, and it wasn’t fair to you. You were absolutely in the right to leave.

Martha looks stunned, and just a little bit embarrassed. “I - thank you, Doctor. Bit late, but thank you.”

“See, I told you,” the Master mutters. He wasn’t exactly lurking in the shadows, but it was a close thing.

“Who’re you?” Martha asks, finally noticing him. “Hi- er, her newest companion? I’m Martha Jones, I travelled with her ages ago.”

He laughs. “Oh, I know who you are, Martha Jones.”

She tilts her head, suspicious. “Do I know you?”

“I would certainly hope so,” he says, grinning.

“If I tell you who he is,” the Doctor says, nervous, “you have to promise not to slap either of us.”

The Doctor tells her. Martha keeps her promise. She seems more disappointed than angry, anyhow. The Doctor, panicking, begins to ramble.

“Doctor, it was great seeing you, but I need to get going,” she sighs after listening to the Doctor frantically try to explain that it was okay, he was better now

“Where to? I can take you!” the Doctor offers.

Martha shakes her head gently. “I’d like to get there in the right year, thanks. But I appreciate it.”

The Doctor smiles, sad and bittersweet. “Well, then, I guess I’ll be off. Have a lovely day, Martha.”

“You too, Doctor. Thank you for stopping by,” Martha says, stepping out of the TARDIS.

The doors close. The Doctor’s smile drops. She moves around the console, piloting them back to Grace’s house, a few hours later.

The Master doesn't say anything, though the raised eyebrow he gives her throughout the ride back says more than enough. The Doctor doesn't quite stomp out of the TARDIS in a huff, but it's a near thing.

As she walks inside Graham's house, she sees all four humans on the sofa. Grace turns to face her. "There you are, love! Graham was just telling me about your trip."

The Doctor scronches. "Well, I wouldn't call it a trip. It wasn't really _planned."_

"None of the best ones are, are they?" Grace replies with a smile.

The Doctor smiles in return. Grace's optimism was just what she needed after, well… everything.

"Maybe I could make it right," she offers. "Take all you lot on a proper adventure."

The Master slinks in and leans against the doorframe. "Please tell me you aren't keeping them," he says.

"It's just going to be a quick trip!" she protests. "And only if they want to."

The delighted look on Grace's face put even the Doctor's enthusiasm to shame. The Master sighs. "Fine, but if any of them die I'm not consoling you."

The Doctor puts her centuries of practice ignoring him to use and turns to the humans. "So, where would you like to go?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, as I discovered while trawling the DW wiki, Martha's met 11 before, so regenerarion is not much of a surprise to her. Much to the Master's disappointment.


	18. City of Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you may notice: I skipped Rosa. As a white person, I wasn't sure I could write about the issues addressed in the episode in a respectful way, and so I decided to skip over it, at least for now. So, currently, the contents of the episode never happened in this AU. Perhaps at a later time I'll write it, but... for now, have this! Bonus points if you can catch all the references to a certain bug-filled Metroidvania.

“Where can we go?” Grace asks.

“Anywhere, anywhen! I can take you to planets unlike anything you’ve ever seen, or the end of the Earth! Well, not that one because I’ve already been there and crossing your own timeline is bad, but you get the idea. You can pick, or I can set the TARDIS to random and it’ll be a surprise!” the Doctor says, grinning.

Grace’s eyes light up, and she turns to Graham, smiling. “Any preferences, love?”

“Somewhere that doesn’t try to kill us, if I had to pick,” Graham mutters.

“Good luck with that,” the Master says. “She has an amazing talent for showing up right in the middle of a revolution, or a natural disaster, or an alien invasion. Or, if you’re really lucky, all three at once.”

“I don’t do it on purpose!” she protests.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t do it on purpose, _most of the time_ ,” she amends. “I do need some excitement.”

“Well, I don’t mind a little excitement,” Grace says. “So why don’t we make it a surprise?”

The Doctor’s grin widens. “Sounds perfect! Come on, everyone in the TARDIS!”

As they step outside, she watches Grace’s face as they enter the TARDIS. Her eyes go wide, and she dashes outside to look at it again.

“It’s…” she begins as she re-enters.

“Yes, yes, bigger on the inside than the outside, how ever will your puny human mind cope. Can we get going now?” the Master interrupts.

“Don’t be rude!” the Doctor hisses, and then to Grace, “Don’t mind him, he’s just annoyed.”

The Master scowls, but keeps his mouth shut. Grace is still too in awe to do anything but nod.

“Now, I’ll filter out anywhere deadly to humans, and anywhere too boring. And all the Tuesdays, never have anything good happen on Tuesdays,” the Doctor mutters as she moves around the console. She flips one final switch and the Time Rotor whirrs to life, glowing a gentle orange. The familiar wheezing of the TARDIS fills her ears. She smiles.

The eventual landing is smoother than usual, a gentle bump instead of the normal _thud_. She glances at the scanner.

“Inquiss Beta, the year 7450,” she reads. “Ooh! Love this planet, filled with these neat insectoid people, most fascinating language system. All based around body language. It’s a little hard for the TARDIS to translate, but by now they’ve started having contact with other planets, so they’ve got these ingenious translators that… well, you’ll see. Come on!”

She heads for the door, gesturing them after her. On her way past the Master, she grabs his hand and drags him along, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes at her.

The doors open to a bright marketplace, tents every color of the rainbow lining the sides of the road. Tall, slender beings with antenna, at least four arms apiece, and gossamer wings bustle about, some other species mixed in; a few humanoids, but mostly the inhabitants of Inquiss Alpha, who resemble a mix between snails and crabs. The sounds of clicking mandibles, stilted translators, and the chatter of the humanoids fill the air. She takes a deep breath of the fresh air, catching a whiff of something baking, and smiles. Behind her, the humans are wide-eyed in amazement.

“Come on, what are you waiting for? Let’s look around!” she says.

She leads them through the crowds, stopping occasionally at the various vendors to inspect their wares.

“Hey, Doc, look over here!” Graham calls, pointing to the side of one of the permanent buildings, a rounded dome-like construction.

There’s a missing person poster stuck to the wall. The person in question is a humanoid child with messy brown curls and bright green eyes, apparently named Iselda. She’d gone missing a few days ago(if the Doctor had her date right), and her parents were offering a great reward to the people who found her.

“We have to look for her,” Grace says, in a tone brooking no argument.

The Doctor nods. “We can split up. I’ll go with the Master and try to track her down with my sonic, you four can ask around for more information. Don’t get separated from each other, and if you need me, call me.”

“You have a phone?” Ryan asks incredulously.

“‘Course I have a phone! Look, just hand yours over, I’ll put my number in.” She stretches out a hand.

“You better not wipe all my data again,” he mutters.

“I put it back, after!” she says. “Look, there. My number, in your phone, no harm done. If you find anything, call me, and if you get lost, stay put and I’ll come find you. I’ll meet you all at the TARDIS in, oh, let’s say three hours.”

She waits until they all nod, then walks off, the Master in tow.

“Why are we searching for a child that probably just ran away from home?” he asks as they move through the crowd.

“Because,” she replies, turning off the main road, “she might not have. And Grace wants to.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot, we have to bend to the whims of a species that would’ve been dead centuries ago without your interference. Of course,” he sighs.

She doesn’t rise to the bait, stopping in front of a domed building. “This is where the poster said her family lived. I’m going to go in and ask some questions. Can you be polite?”

“Yes, I’ll play nice,” he says.

She raises a hand to knock on the door, but doesn’t even get that far before a humanoid woman with long brown hair opens it and says, “Don’t knock, please, the baby’s sleeping. Is this about Iselda? Have you found her?”

“Yes and not yet, in that order,” the Doctor answers. “We saw the poster and we want to help, but we don’t know where to start. Can we ask you some questions?”

The woman’s face falls. “Of course. It’ll have to be out here, though, I just got Percy to take his nap and he’s a light sleeper.”

She steps fully out of the house and into the street. “What do you want to know?”

“When did she go missing? Where was she last seen? Oh, and do you have anything of hers, like a hairbrush or something?” the Doctor rattles off the questions.

“Three days ago, on her way home from school. Last one to see her was Slie, he runs a trinket shop on Greenpath that she went past every day on her way home, but he probably won’t be much help. And I do, but why?” the woman replies.

“Just need to scan it so I can track her DNA, s’all,” the Doctor explains. “Nothing harmful, I promise.”

The woman tilts her head. “That kinda tech’s hard to come by around here. You’re not local, are you?”

“Not in the least. But I can help, if you let me.”

She nods and heads back into the house. A minute later, she returns, hairbrush in hand. She gives it to the Doctor. One quick sonic scan later, and the hairbrush is returned.

“Thank you. We’re gonna do our best to find your daughter, I swear,” the Doctor promises.

“You know, of all the people to promise that in the past few days, I believe you the most,” the woman says with a half-smile as she steps back inside the doorway.

The Doctor returns her smile. “Yeah, I have one of those faces.”

The woman closes the door, and the Doctor looks down at her sonic.

The Master sighs. “Where to now, oh noble rescuer of apes?”

“Well, I was thinking that shop she mentioned. Ask around, figure out what the shopkeeper saw, scan the area for her DNA, go from there,” she says, then adds, “And I don’t think this lot are descended from apes, technically.”

“They’re all apes, dear, regardless of genetics,” he argues as she heads down the road.

“You always say that.” There’s a fondness in the way she rolls her eyes at him, the argument familiar and both knowing neither will budge.

“And I’m right.”

The shop they’re looking for is just down the road, a small place with a simple sign announcing ‘Slie’s Shop: Trinkets, Gifts, and Jewelry’. The door is propped open, and inside she can see a short Inquiss Beta native amongst a clutter of miscellaneous objects.

“Hi! We’re looking for Iselda and heard you were the last one to see her,” she says as they walk in. “Got any information you want to share?”

There’s a short pause, and then the slightly robotic tones of the translator reply, “Not for free. All information has a price. What do you have to offer?”

“Oh, seriously?” she groans. “Well, I have, er…” She digs through her pockets, to very little avail. It’s highly unlikely he wants a half-fixed electric kettle, a paperback copy of Beowulf, or a handful of loose wires from when she’d been messing with the TARDIS’ air conditioning.

“Look,” the Master says. “You’re going to tell her what she wants to know, and in exchange your limbs will stay attached. Clear?”

She looks over and sees that, without her noticing, he’d pulled out his sonic pen and was now significantly closer to Slie than he had been. The shopkeep’s faceted eyes are wide in fear and his mandibles clack together nervously.

“Put that down!” she snaps. “There’s no need to threaten him.”

“Shush, dear, I’m helping you, now’s no time for morals,” he says dismissively. “Now, what did you last see of the girl?”

“She was walking past my shop. Nothing out of the ordinary,” Slie replies.

“And that’s all?”

“I promise you, that is all I know!”

The Master turns to leave, and she follows, somewhere between annoyed and angry.

“That was completely unnecessary,” she reprimands him as they step outside. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“He barely said anything useful, and you know as well as I do whatever price he was going to charge was too high. I did you a favor, love,” he replies.

The Doctor’s response is cut off by the cheery, tinny ringing of her phone in her pocket. She pulls out the ancient flip phone and answers. “Ryan, is everything okay? Did you find anything helpful?”

“Sort of,” Ryan says, sounding panicked. “And by sort of I mean we know where she is, but we can’t get there because it’s this weird church guarded by all these cult-looking people.”

“Nice work, you lot. I’ll be right there. Where are you?”

“Kinda left of that shop that was selling those scarves. But, uh, Doctor, I’d hurry. I think they noticed we’re here.”


	19. Never Split The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, fingers in my ears, humming loudly: I DONT HAVE TO ADMIT THE FINALE HAPPENED IF I IGNORE IT LOUD ENOUGH

The Doctor's mad dash, coat billowing and hair tangling in the wind, leads her back the way she came to the shop Ryan mentioned. It's later, now, the golden sun in the purple sky beginning to sink, and the sellers are just packing up their wares.

She glances around, spots an incongruous building, and runs toward it. The glossy black exterior of the structure, almost like a carapace, stands out among the warm brown of the other buildings, and there is a larger-than-normal number of people holding suspiciously weapon-looking objects out front.

She stops far enough away that she won't be noticed and waits for the Master to catch up. He's not top far behind her, luckily, though he's obviously annoyed at having to run after her.

"What," he asks between breaths, "was the point of all that running?"

"Ryan sounded urgent, said they found Iselda but that they were about to get caught, no time to wait," she explains, trying her best not to sound out of breath as well. "We need to get in there and see what's going on."

A smirk spreads across the Master's face. "I could-"

"Without hurting the guards, if possible," she adds, and his face falls.

"I swear, dear, you only have a moral compass when it most annoys me," he mutters.

Despite the tense situation, she can't help but grin and reply, "I do try."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. I won't hurt them, but is a slight hypnotic suggestion acceptable?"

"How slight?"

"Just enough to knock them out."

Against her better judgement, she actually believes him. She heaves a resigned sigh; it's hardly ideal, but they've wasted enough time arguing they don't have many other options. "Fine."

His grin returns and he walks towards the building. As one, the guards turn to face him. There's a moment where she's just a little bit worried that he's overestimated his abilities(goodness knows it wouldn't be the first time), and then the guards drop to the ground.

He turns to face her, and she can almost _taste_ the smugness he projects through her mind. She sends back a sense of fond annoyance and walks past him into the building.

It's dark, lit solely by the flickering bio-lights on the walls that really only soften the darkness inside. Her footsteps echo on the hard floor(tile? marble? she can't tell) but even those sounds seem to be eaten up by the darkness inside. A few steps forward have her knocking her leg against something. The light of her sonic barely helps, but it's enough to see that she's bumped into a kind of table, set into(or perhaps carved out of) the floor. There’s strange markings on it, swirling and twisting into the stone. It’s unnerving.

“What is this place?” she wonders aloud, trying to distract herself.

“Somewhere you really shouldn’t be,” a voice replies, far too close for comfort.

There’s a feeling, almost a premonition of pain, but before it becomes reality there’s a ‘thunk’ as something - some _one_ \- hits the floor. She turns to look, her sonic glowing, and sees a humanoid slumped to the ground beside her. A deeply unpleasant-looking blunt weapon is in their hand. Must have been another guard, perhaps on break or just meant to watch for anyone who got past his colleagues.

“You’re welcome, dear,” the Master says from behind her. “Pretty sure he was about to try to knock you out.”

“What did you do to him?” she demands, ignoring the relief that seeing him brings.

He sighs. “The same I did to the guards. I knew you’d get annoyed if I killed him.”

A smile spreads across her face and she can’t help it, she’s a bit proud of him.

“I wasn’t doing that out of the goodness of my hearts and you know it,” he snaps. “I just don’t want you all moping and moralistic right now.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs his hand as she steps around the table to explore further. Sure, he’s probably telling the truth about his intentions, but what really matters is that he had the chance to kill someone and didn’t take it. Baby steps, and all that.

“Hello?” she calls as she walks. “Yaz? Ryan? Graham? Grace?”

She doesn’t get a response, but she does eventually find a door. It opens into a dim, but at least visible, corridor. Lacking any other good options, she heads down it, peering through the doors that branch off. Nothing useful behind any of them, despite her best efforts. Lots of cell-like rooms, but all empty.

All empty, except the very last one. She almost misses the form huddled on the floor as she passes the door, it’s so small. Without a second thought, she opens the door with a pulse from her sonic. Inside the room is a young, humanoid girl with brown hair that would likely be curly if it weren’t in such a state of disrepair. She flinches as the door opens, and the Doctor’s hearts break just a little.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, crouching down to the girl’s level. “We’re here to help. You’re Iselda, right?”

A shakey, uncertain nod.

“Your mom has been worried sick about you. We can get you out of here if you come with us,” she says.

The girl peers up at her, green eyes wide.

“Can you really?” she asks in a small voice.

“‘Course I can, I do it all the time,” the Doctor replies, trying to make her smile as reassuring as possible. “I just need to find my friends first, and then we can take you home to your mom and little brother.”

Iselda stands slowly. She doesn’t seem injured, merely hungry and scared. The anger building in the Doctor’s hearts is soothed slightly by that.

“That’s it, come on,” the Doctor coaxes. “Now, do you happen to know where my friends might be?”

“M-maybe in the basement? There’s a door on the other side of the big dark room,” she says, her voice still shaky.

“Sounds perfect.” The Doctor releases the Master’s hand to take Iselda’s, leading the girl back down the hall. “You don’t have to answer, but do you know why you’re here?”

Iselda shakes her head. “I was just going home after school and these people grabbed me and then I woke up here. They’ve been making me memorize all these weird words.”

A creepy temple, kidnapping, and weird words. It all points to something the Doctor hates dealing with - a cult. Most fanatical groups have some sort of rational motivation, no matter how twisted, but cults… nothing worse than a cult when it comes to unbending loyalty to a cause.

They reach the end of the hallway, and the Doctor says, “Now, Iselda, I want you to stay here with my friend, okay? I’m going to go get my friends, and then I’ll come right back and we can all go home.”

“You aren’t seriously putting me on babysitting duty again,” the Master complains.

“I don’t want to drag her into something potentially traumatizing, and I can’t just let her wander around. I need someone I can trust watching her,” the Doctor replies, and then she lowers her voice, quiet enough Iselda won’t hear. “Please, Master.”

She can see the way his eyes light up when she says his name, but he quickly forces his face neutral again. “Alright, fine. I’ll watch the kid.”

“Thank you. I should be right back unless something goes really badly wrong, which only happens about 78% of the time, so I should be fine!” she chirps, and that’s reassuring, right? It’s probably reassuring.

  
  


The room is just as dark as she remembers, but she knows where she’s going this time. Cutting a bee-line across the room, it doesn’t take her long to find the door Iselda meant. It’s locked, but that’s quickly fixed with a quick buzz of her sonic. The stairway behind it is slightly better lit, well enough she doesn’t stumble as she makes her way downstairs. It leads into a hallway much like the one above where Iselda was, but most of the doors are lacking in the windows the ones above had. Thus, it’s a game of trial and error trying to find her companions(not companions, temporary travelling buddies. They probably aren’t staying and she needs to remember that.)

Unfortunately, she makes a lot of errors. The third door she opens doesn’t lead to an empty room like the previous two did; instead, there are half a dozen robed figures gathered around a table talking, none facing the door.

“The girl has learned her part, and the moon will be at its apex this night. It is our best chance for success, and we must act soon if we wish to avoid being noticed,” one figure says.

And maybe it’s because she’s spent too long around the Master, or maybe she’s just too dramatic herself, but the Doctor can’t resist saying, “Bit too late for that.”

The figures turn in shock, and all six are humanoids. She isn’t very surprised by that - the natives of Inquiss Beta aren’t big on cults as a whole.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” the one who was speaking demands.

“I’m the Doctor, and I’m the Doctor,” she replies with a just a hint of a grin. It doesn’t last long. “Now, what are you lot doing in the basement of a creepy building, kidnapping little girls?”

One of the cultists pulls a blaster on her. If she had to guess, it’s probably only strong enough to stun, based on the size of the power cell, but she’d still rather avoid that. Her sonic’s already in her hand, so it’s easy enough to disable the blaster.

“Look, this would be much easier if you’d just answer me instead of trying to shoot me,” she sighs. “Maybe if you cooperate, I won’t even tell the authorities.” A blatant lie, but they don’t need to know that.

“We should just tell her and then lock her up with the other ones,” one whispers, probably thinking she can’t hear them. Most of the figures nod.

“There is a creature that we must contain,” the leader(presumably) says, sounding reluctant. “The girl will summon it and serve as the host, and then we will kill her and temporarily remove the creature. It’s the only way to contain it, or else it may destroy the world.”

“Destroy the world how? And why can’t it be one of you?” she demands.

“Legends say it would burn the planet until all that remains is ash and ruin. This is the only way,” the leader replies, carefully avoiding the second question.

“Right, well, that’s not happening. Lovely meeting you all, got to go,” she says, and then runs out the door, sonicing the lock until it jams.

She can hear indignant shouting and the banging of fists against the door, but their own architecture is against them; the whole place is made of sturdy stone, and they don’t stand a chance. She sonics each door open as she passes it, then does a double-take at one. Inside are her humans, unconscious on the floor.

The cell they’re in is somehow worse than the one Iselda had been in. Darker, grimier, just an empty square room devoid of any amenities. Luckily, they’re all unharmed; likely thanks to the one cultist’s blaster, if she had to guess. There’s no way she can carry all four of them, so she kneels down and, as gently as she can while still being effective, slaps Graham across the face.

“Whuzzhappnin?” he mumbles, eyes opening.

“Good, that worked, I really didn’t want to do that again. We need to wake the others and get out of here,” she says.

“Outta where?”

“You got caught by the cultists. No time to explain, I locked them in their meeting room but I have no idea how good their locks are. By the shouting, probably pretty good, but I also left the Master unattended with a small child, so the faster we get moving the better.” She stands and moves on to Ryan, repeating what she did to Graham.

“Oi, there’s no need for that!” Graham protests.

“Quickest way to wake you lot, believe me, I’d know. I’ve had to deal with way too many unconscious people.”

Next is Yaz, since Graham is waking Grace. She seems almost awake already, so the Doctor only needs to shake her shoulder to wake her.

“What happened?” she asks blearily.

“You got captured, I rescued you, and now that all of you are awake we need to get moving before something bad happens,” the Doctor says, standing. “Follow me.”

As the half-walk, half-run down the hallway, they pass the meeting room. The door’s still locked, but the shouting’s stopped by now. She isn’t really too worried about them, since she’s sure they’ll get out eventually. Probably.

“Where are we?” Grace asks.

“The basement of the building you were watching. I already found Iselda, we just need to get her back home. Come on, hurry up!” The last part was called over her shoulder as she dashed up the stairs.

The chamber at the top of the stairs is still dark, but by now it’s easy for her to make her way to the hallway.

“Doc, where are you?” Graham shouts.

“Just stay where you are! I’ll be right back!” she yells back, opening the door.

Inside, Iselda is sitting on the floor while the Master leans against the opposite wall. He doesn’t quite straighten up when she enters, but it’s a close thing.

“Oh good, you’re back. Did you find your pets?” he says.

“They’re not my pets, but yes, I found them. Come on, we probably don’t have too long before the cultists break out again,” she answers. “You too, Iselda.”

A grin spreads across the Master’s face. “What did you do, dear? Lock them in a room?”

“Ye- that doesn’t matter right now.”

“Oh, sure, I can’t kill the guards but you can leave people in a room to die?”

“Not the point! _Come on!_ ”

Iselda, at least, listens. Reaching up for the Doctor’s hand the same way they’d done earlier, she asks, “Can I go home now?”

"Yes, that's what we're doing, taking you home," the Doctor says, trying to ignore the look of sheer, vicious delight on the Master's face.

"You got to lock them up, can I blow this place up?" he asks, almost begs. "Pretty please? I know you don't like cults, love."

" _No!_ We're not blowing anything - or _anyone_ \- up!" she snaps.

She almost drags Iselda out, leaving the Master in the hall.

"Fam!" she calls. "Gang? Team TARDIS? Come on!"

No response. She's in a dark room in a creepy temple filled with cultists and now her companions(her people, her _responsibility_ ) are missing again.


	20. Shade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, writer's block was kicking my ass! Weird to think this is the first Sunday since the start of this year without a new episode...  
> Bonus: If you want some really creepy thematic music for the later bit, starting around "Let's go find out, yeah?", try this - https://youtu.be/ryd4g2gd0xA

The Doctor is not panicking. Panicking, as she’s informed every companion she’s ever had, never helps. All it does is make you irrational and more likely to make stupid decisions. Never panic, she always tells them, just try to think of a way out. She reminds herself of this, and it does approximately nothing to help. Maybe she is panicking, just a little. Her friends are missing, potentially about to be sacrificed or worse, and she can’t find them. The panicking is well-earned, in her opinion.

She opens her mouth to start rambling to Iselda, but then she hears a low groan. Not quite running - she doesn’t want to trip over something in the dark, though now it seems a bit lighter in the room - she goes to investigate. The light from her sonic isn’t much, but it’s enough to make out Graham’s face. He blinks at the sudden brightness.

“Graham! Thought you’d been kidnapped by the cultists. Again. Twice in one day, that’s pretty impressive. Though poor Rose has you beat, I think, there was a time she… I’m getting distracted. Where’re the others?” she asks, cutting off the panicked flood of words she hears leaving her mouth without permission from her brains.

“I think Yaz is over there,” he says, pointing along the wall. “And Ryan’s near there. Not sure about Grace, he knocked me out before I saw what happened to her. Honestly, not sure how much concussing my poor head can take.”

A quick look, aided by her sonic, proves him correct; Yaz and Ryan are slumped against the wall, both unconscious. But Grace is nowhere to be seen. That doesn’t bode well, not in this kind of place. The ‘he’ Graham mentioned must be the guard the Master had knocked out earlier; maybe he was psychically resistant, or the Master had just done a sloppy job, but either way, she needs to find him.

“Okay, you stay here with Iselda - sorry I keep leaving you with people, Iselda, but I can’t just take you with me - and I’ll go find Grace,” she says.

“What? No!” Graham argues. “He has my wife, I’m not just going to stay here!”

“It’s too dangerous!”

“Oh, and that other place wasn’t?”

She throws her hands up in exasperation. “Fine!” No, too angry, don’t want to upset him. She tries again. “Fine.”

“Right then,” he nods, standing. “Where do you think he took her?”

The Doctor honestly has no clue. The basement didn’t have anything he could possibly want except some old record books, and it would be hard to leave by the front door with an unconscious woman over his shoulder. She doesn’t know this place well enough to have any ideas.

From her side, Iselda speaks up. “Maybe he took her out the back door? There’s one somewhere in here, ‘cause I kept seeing light come in from it and I was thinking maybe I could get out that way. But I think it only leads out to the alleyway, and then it’s just the slums.”

“Iselda, you are brilliant!” the Doctor grins. “Lead the way!”

  
  


After some scrambling around in the dark, they manage to find the back door. It leads out to a narrow street between rows of domed buildings, which twists and turns until it opens into a broader street lined with apartment-like structures. The purple sky above them is alight with the glow of stars and the gentle light of the two moons. It would be gorgeous, if it weren’t under such terrible conditions.

The Doctor pulls out her sonic again to scan the area around them, and then she takes off down the street after the only movement in the past few minutes that she’d detected. She follows it for several streets, Graham and Iselda behind her, until they exit what seems to be the poorer area and re-enter the business district, still bustling with life even at night. Tracking the movement signal would be near-impossible, so the Doctor resorts to other methods.

“Excuse me, have you seen a humanoid come through here with another one over his shoulder?” she asks the area at large, wishing she were taller again so she could see over the crowd.

She moves through the clusters of people, repeating her question until she finally gets an answer, a nod and a pointed limb in one direction. Smiling her thanks, she gestures for Graham and Iselda to follow her up the street. A few more rounds of frantic questioning leads them to a pub, where someone apparently went around back a few minutes ago and didn’t come back out.

“Why would he be under a pub?” Graham asks as the Doctor scans the building slowly with her sonic.

“I don’t know, but I’m getting all kinds of weird energy signals from here, so _something’s_ going on,” she mutters. “Let’s go find out, yeah?”

The back door to the basement of the pub is chained shut in a quite frankly ominous manner. Not surprising, but definitely ominous. One quick pulse from the Doctor’s sonic is plenty to open the locks, and she opens the door as quietly as she can. Old stone stairs lead down into the darkness below, which is somehow less dark than that in the temple. The Doctor leads the way down, creeping down the stairs.

She can hear low chanting as she gets further down, in some language old or obscure enough the TARDIS isn’t bothering to translate. It sounds as though there should be dozens of voices echoing the chant, but there’s only one; whatever is going on must be relatively impromptu.

“Those’re the words I had to learn!” Iselda whispers as they get lower and closer to the chanting. “The people said I needed to know ‘em so I could perform a ceremony.”

“Do you know what they mean?” she asks, voice low.

Iselda shakes her head. “No, sorry. They just said I needed to learn them, or else.”

Annoying, but unsurprising. The Doctor steps lower, and then suddenly she’s out of stairs. They’ve reached the bottom. 

There’s just enough light for the Doctor to see the faint outline of someone standing in the middle of the surprisingly large room. The person - the guard, if she had to guess - is chanting, voice rising. In front of him, there’s a low table or altar, much like the one in the temple, and on top of it, a figure. Grace.

She hears Graham inhale sharply, and turns to him. “Quiet,” she says, barely above a breath. “Stay here.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, she moves towards the guard. As she approaches, her steps nearly silent on the stone floor, she sees darkness, deep like that in the temple, swirl around him, obscuring his form. Whatever he’s summoning, it’s coming. If she distracts him now, it could dissipate… or it could be let loose. From the urgent tone to his voice, she doesn’t have much time to decide, so she hopes she makes the right choice.

As quickly as she can, she presses a finger against his neck. Most humanoids have pretty much the same body plan, including important nerve clusters, so she’s 96%, well, maybe 86%, sure it’ll work. When the chanting stops, she’s proven right.

The darkness that was filling the room seems to freeze. Then it moves, all at once, towards the man. She releases him, but it’s already too late. It surrounds him, then seems to consume him, flesh disappearing before her eyes as it eats it’s fill. That’s when the Doctor realizes.

“Oh, I know what you are,” she whispers. “Very clever, getting them to feed you on a regular basis. But they don’t have forests and don’t use paper much here, so you couldn’t exactly spread, now could you? Can’t multiply without trees, can’t prey on the roadkill because of the exoskeletons, can’t survive very long without sacrifices, so if I had to guess I’d say you hitched a ride over on one of the trade ships. You’re dependent on them, and don’t want to ruin a good thing, am I right? Don’t want them to stop feeding you, so you avoid eating them in exchange. Very nice.”

“Doctor? What’s going on?” Graham asks.

“Get out of here, now. Take Iselda, leave, and I’ll get Grace out, I promise. Go back to the temple and get everyone out of there, too. If the Master makes a fuss, tell him… tell him I said it’s like the Library. He’ll know what that means. And don’t let your shadows touch anyone else’s until he’s checked you over,” she says, hiding the fear she can feel clenching around her hearts.

Graham pauses. “Right. Come on, then, Iselda. You heard the Doc.”

Once she hears footsteps going up the stairs, she speaks. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to take your sacrifice, and I’m going to leave with her. Then, I’ll come back, and I can get you off this world and move you somewhere you’ll have more food and won’t be such a risk. If you hurt any of my friends, or try to stay on my ship when I move you, the deal’s off and I _will_ find a way to destroy you. Are we clear?”

Vashta Nerada can’t nod, but the movement of the darkness gives the impression of doing so.

“Good,” she says.

The Doctor walks towards the altar and lifts Grace’s unconscious body off of it. It’s easy enough to sling her over her shoulder fireman-style and carry her up the stairs. The rest of the walk back to the temple is fairly quick, and she finds everyone outside.

“Doctor, you had better explain what’s going on, _now,_ ” the Master snarls when he spots her. “Are you -”

“I’m fine,” she assures him. “Did you check all of their shadows?”

“They aren’t contaminated. How did you get out?”

“I promised them safe passage to somewhere a little less rocky. I was thinking Grelfen IV, how does that sound?”

“What are you talking about?” Yaz asks.

“I’ll explain once I do something real quick,” the Doctor replies. “You all, stay here. I need the TARDIS, and then I’ll be right back.”

The Master shakes his head. “There is no way you’re dealing with those on your own. I’m coming with you.”

 _“If something goes wrong, you’re the only one I can trust to get me out of it. You can’t do that if you’re with me,_ ” she thinks; the humans don’t need to hear this.

He sighs. “ _Fine. If they eat you, it’s your fault._ "

“ _Never said it wouldn’t be._ ”

She grins as she lays Grace down, hoping it comes off as confident and not a grimace. “Like I said, right back. Promise.”

The TARDIS is not pleased with her. She can tell - that specific tone of beep is usually only for when she does something spectacularly stupid. Which, technically, inviting a swarm of horrifying shadows onto the TARDIS might qualify, but there’s really no need for the ship to take that tone of voice.

“I know, I know, but I’ll get them right back off,” she pleads.

The color of the crystal shifts from petulant red to disgruntled purple. Not pleased, but allowing it.

“Thank you!”

She lands in the basement of the pub and opens the doors.

“Get in, and remember what I told you: any nibbling whatsoever and the deal’s off,” she calls into the darkness.

And then, suddenly, she’s got approximately a dozen extra shadows. Closing the doors again, she heads back to the console and pilots the way to a relatively deserted planet; lots of animal life, no sentience, plenty of forests.

“Alrighty, final stop! All of you, shoo!” she orders, opening the TARDIS doors once more into the middle of a dense wood.

Her hitchhikers disappear, flooding the forest and then dissipating into the shadows. The Doctor can barely tell the difference, and she saw it happen. She steps back inside the TARDIS and heads back to Inquiss Beta, landing next to the temple. She’s barely a minute after she left, but it’s long enough that Grace is awake, if a bit groggy.

“Now, Iselda, I do believe it’s past your bedtime,” she says, grinning as she steps out of the TARDIS. “Ready to go home?”

  
  


Iselda's mother is overjoyed when the 7 of them arrive at her door. She scoops Iselda up in a hug and buries her face in her hair.

"Mama, I'm fine! Put me down!" Iselda squeaks, wiggling in her arms.

"Thank you so much for rescuing her," she says, putting Iselda down and pulling the Doctor into a crushing hug. "I can't tell you how grateful I am."

"Of course," the Doctor says, flustered. "I, er, we can't stay, have to go, but if you ever need anything… I mean, uh."

The woman smiles. "No, I'm sure you have other kids to rescue. Just, thank you for saving my daughter."

The Doctor, for once lost for words, just nods and slowly steps back. Iselda dashes out before her mother can close the door and hugs the Doctor, just for a second. Then she’s back inside, the door closes, and there’s a moment of quiet.

“So, who’s ready to go home?” the Doctor asks, perhaps a little too loud in her urgency to fill the pause.

“I’m not sure I ever want to go back after this,” Grace sighs with a smile. “It’s wonderful.”

“I am!” Graham says. “I spent a week sleeping on that ship, but it just isn’t the same as home.”

Grace laughs, and it seems the silence is truly broken, because the walk back to the TARDIS is full of chatter.

“Hey, Doctor, what was up with that cult?” Ryan asks when they reach the TARDIS. “Graham said something about shadows?”

“Oh, just some old acquaintances posing as a god, nothing big really,” she answers, waving it off. “I was just a bit paranoid, is all.”

The Master raises an eyebrow at her. She shoots him a Look; no point in worrying the humans over nothing, right? No need to tell them they might’ve died since everything turned out fine. The look he gives her in reply is skeptical, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“So, Sheffield, 2018, right?” she asks, moving around the console.

Time to take them home.


	21. Familia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my school got closed for 2-4 weeks due to COVID-19, and my musical got cancelled/postponed until next school year, I'll have a lot more time to work on this fic, so expect chapters every other day or so during the week. Everybody remember to wash your hands, stay as safe as you can, and try and stay positive!

The initial landing is a bit rough, but as soon as the humans step outside, they’re smiling. They’ve landed on a ledge just outside a building, with a wonderful view of the river.

“We’re home!” Yaz shouts. “We’re actually home!”

The Doctor struggles not to be offended. “I told you I’d do it!”

“To be fair, love, you don’t have the best track record,” the Master says.

“We’re at Park Hill,” Ryan points out.

Yaz looks up at the towering complex in front of them and points. “That’s my flat, there.”

“Wait, you live at Park Hill?” Ryan asks, gesturing. “We’re just up there.”

“And I’ve got mobile signal again!” Yaz exclaims, pulling out her phone. “But no messages.”

“Well, to be fair, it’s only half an hour since we left,” the Doctor says.

“What, half an hour since we were with you at our house?” Graham asks incredulously.

The Doctor nods. “Yeah. Would’ve gotten a bit closer but I didn’t want to risk a paradox. Those are no fun.”

“If you could drive better, this wouldn’t be an issue,” the Master mutters.

She ignores him. “So, suppose this is it.”

The humans share a look.

“Suppose it is,” Ryan agrees.

“Took you on your trip, guess we’re done,” she says. “Nice having you aboard.”

“Thanks, Doc. It’s been a blast, truly,” Graham says.

Grace nods. “Thank you. For all of it.”

The Doctor glances down. “Pleasure.”

“What’re you gonna do now?” Yaz asks.

“Oh, you know. Back in the box,” she shrugs. “There’s loads to see.”

She ignores the faint twinge of regret in her chest. They were never really her companions anyways; she’d dragged them into her disasters, and the trip to Inquiss Beta had been a thank-you for putting up with her, nothing more. No need to be getting attached just because they’d been kind to her. Besides, she didn’t even want new companions, not after… not after Bill. Not with the Master here too. She also ignores the look he’s giving her. She’s not going to be taking them along, and they probably don’t even want her to stick around. Some broken old alien with more problems than she can fix, hiding behind a cheerful facade; who’d want that?

“Do you wanna come for tea at mine?” Yaz asks.

Her answer spills out before she can stop herself. “Definitely! Yes I would, thanks! I love tea. Tea at Yaz’s? Amazing. Are you coming? Are we all going for tea at Yaz’s?” she turns to ask the others.

“She didn’t invite us,” Ryan shrugs.

“Don’t be daft,” Yaz sighs. “‘Course you’re all invited.”

Ryan grins. “Alright then.”

The Doctor looks at the Master. He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Why not.”

“As much as I appreciate the offer,” Graham says, “I am going to go home and take a nap. It’s been a long day, and I’ve had at least one concussion, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll go with you, love. There’s a few things I want to grab,” Grace agrees.

Maybe, the Doctor thinks as Yaz leads them into the complex, she might keep them. Just for a little while longer. Just for tea.

They’re almost inside Yaz’s flat when the Doctor spots someone further down the hall. She looks worried. Naturally, the Doctor’s curious.

“Are you alright?” she calls.

The girl turns and looks at her. “Fine, thanks!” she replies, but her face is taut with something between fear and concern.

The Doctor faintly hears her talking on the phone, but a spiderweb along the hall catches her eye. It’s a bit cold for spiders, now. Strange.

“Come on, love,” the Master sighs, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside the flat. “You’re the one who wants to be here.”

They step inside just in time to see Yaz’s father step out of the kitchen and say, “You’ve brought friends back? Sonya! Yaz’s brought friends back! I’m getting food.”

A young girl, maybe 16 or 17, steps out of the hall. “What, you actually have friends?” she scoffs, then glances at Ryan. “She payin’ ya?”

Ryan laughs nervously and doesn’t answer. Yaz shakes her head and leads them into the main room. Sonya and Ryan take seats at the table and Yaz leans against the wall, while the Doctor explores the wonders of their living room. The Master stands next to her, watching her meander.

“Look at your views!” she exclaims, peering out a window. “Never had a flat. I should get one! I’d be good in a flat, I could get a sofa. Imagine me with a sofa! Like my own sofa, I could get a purple one, and sit on it.” The Master raises an eyebrow at her. She pauses. “Am I being weird?”

“Little bit, yeah,” Ryan says.

“Trying to do small talk,” she apologizes. “Thought I was doing quite well.”

“Needs work,” Yaz whispers.

“Maybe I’m nervous,” the Doctor says. “Or just socially awkward. I’m still figuring myself out.”

“Trust me, it’s the second one,” the Master sighs. “It’s nothing new.”

She scrunches her face at him and turns away from the window, only to spot something even more interesting - a pile of miscellaneous _stuff_. “You really like junk,” she notes, bending down to examine it. “You collecting it, like stamps?”

“Let me tell you about this mess!” Yaz’s dad says.

“Don’t get him started,” Sonya groans.

“Dad, we keep telling you, stop picking it up,” Yaz sighs. “Mum’s gonna go crazy when she sees you’ve brought it home again. And it stinks.”

“I can’t just leave it there!” he argues.

“Why do we have to have it?” Sonya whines.

“Well, I thought maybe as your sister is a policewoman -”

“Police officer,” Yaz corrects.

“- And she said she’d do something about it -”

“I did, and they said they’re looking into it.”

“Well… not fast enough! It’s a disgrace.”

“Well, don’t keep it in the kitchen,” Yaz says, sounding as if this is a common argument. “Put it down the chute.”

“It’s evidence!” he protests. “And you know what it’s evidence of.”

The two sisters sigh. “A _conspiracy_.”

That, more than anything, gets the Doctor’s attention. She’d already been intrigued, but conspiracies are always good.

“Exactly!” he says. “A total conspiracy! And gettin’ worse.”

“I love a conspiracy,” the Doctor grins.

“No, Doctor,” the Master mutters beneath his breath. “Tea, say goodbye to the humans, and then we’re off. Nothing more.”

“But what if it’s something exciting?” she argues.

He sighs. “If it turns out to be a normal human mistake and not aliens, you’re taking me somewhere I can blow something up after this. The last time I had any fun was with those things on Desolation, and they barely counted.”

“Deal,” she agrees. If it means she gets to stay a little longer and take a look around, she would agree to anything. Well, almost anything.

Yaz’s phone rings. “Hi, Mum. What, now? I’m just in the middle of… Fine.” She hangs up.

“Is she alright?” Yaz’s father asks.

“Yeah, she forgot something,” Yaz replies. “Asked if I’d drop it at work for her. She’s got a new job, posh hotel opening,” she explains. “Er, do you mind, if I nip out quickly?”

“Need any company?” the Doctor offers.

“Nah. I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll look after your friends,” her dad assures her. “I’m gonna make pakora.”

Yaz steps back into the main room. “Dad, don’t. He’s terrible at pakora.”

“We never meet your friends!” he continues. “She never brings _anyone_ around.”

“Married to the job,” Sonya mutters snidely.

“Least I’ve got a job to be married to,” Yaz shoots back. “Bye.”

“Hope you don’t crash,” Sonya sing-songs as Yaz leaves.

“Girls, now…” their father warns.

“Sisters,” the Doctor says fondly. “I used to have sisters. I used to _be_ a sister, at an aqua-hospital.”

The Master leans in. “Dear, you’re worrying the humans again.”

She pauses her ramble and leans down, spotting a slip of paper on the table. “Ooh, you’ve got a parcel to pick up. Left with a neighbor.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to get that for _days_ ,” Yaz’s father sighs. “Couple of doors down, no reply.”

“Do you want us to go get it while you make your terrible pakora?” she asks. From the way the Master’s rolling his eyes at her, she probably said something rude. Again.

  
  


Ryan goes with them, apparently desperate to escape Sonya. The woman from earlier is still outside, still looking worried. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Still no answer?” the Doctor asks her. “We’ve got a package to pick up for number 34. Think she took it in. You a friend?”

“We work together at the uni,” the woman replies. “She hasn’t been in for a few days. Didn’t call in sick, isn’t answering her messages. Thought I’d drop by, see if she’s okay. I’m Jade McIntyre.”

Ryan takes over introductions as the Doctor kneels down to peer through the mail slot. “I’m Ryan, that’s the Doctor, and this is…”

“I’m Harry,” the Master says, effortlessly slipping on his Don’t Freak Out The Humans act.

“Hello? Anna? It’s next door but one. Have you got a parcel for us?” the Doctor calls, looking through the slot and into the dark and empty flat. There’s no response. She stands. “I mean, I could open the door.”

“What, like break it in?” Jade asks.

“Only technically,” the Master answers, grinning.

“If you’re worried about her,” the Doctor adds.

Jade sighs. “I am.”The Doctor pulls out her sonic from her pocket and opens the door. When she steps inside, the new, not-from-the-mail-slot angle lets her see all sorts of new things. Primarily, cobwebs on every surface, strung across the hall like streamers after a party. There’s a faint smell of dust and stale air throughout the flat, like nothing’s moved in it for several days. Sometimes, she hates being right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was tempting to have the Master go by 'O', but it didn't make any sense, sadly. Not that this fic makes much sense to begin with


	22. Creepy Crawly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pi Day people!

“Anna?” the Doctor calls into the empty, cobwebbed flat. “How long d’you say it’d been since you’d seen her?”

Ryan flicks a lightswitch several times, to no avail. “Power’s out.”

“Few days,” Jade replies.

“Not long enough for this many cobwebs,” the Master mutters.

“That’s what I was thinking,” the Doctor says, stepping into the main room. It’s covered in cobwebs as well, stretching across the whole room, corner to corner.

“Whoa,” Ryan gasps. “This is proper weird, now.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor nods.

Jade grabs at some of the cobwebs, pulling the strands closer to examine them. She doesn’t look shocked, just… sad.

“Did Anna ever mention she had a problem with spiders?” the Doctor asks. Jade doesn't reply. “Let’s take a look downstairs.”

  
  


Below is just as dark as above, and just as cobweb-filled. The Doctor slowly pushes open a door into Anna’s bedroom. “Anna?”

“Is she in here?” Ryan wonders.

She sees a figure on the bed, but something’s off. “You okay?” When she doesn’t get a response, she steps closer. Something about the stillness of the figure worries her.

Then Ryan yanks the curtains of the window wide open, letting the sunlight stream in and revealing the figure on the bed. It’s Anna, or at least it was at some point; now it’s just a corpse, wrapped in layers upon layers of spider silk. Ryan startles as he turns, catching sight of the body.

“Oh, my God, Anna!” Jade gasps.

“I’m so sorry,” the Doctor whispers, leaning in to get a closer look at the body.

“Spiders don’t do that,” Ryan stutters. “Do they?”

“Well, I’ve seen a couple that could do much worse…” the Master says, a cruel smile on his lips.

“Not helping,  _ Harry _ ,” the Doctor snaps. “And Ryan, you’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking, ‘where’s the spider that did this?’”

“You think it’s still in here?!”

Part of her really hopes she’s wrong, the other part hopes it isn’t somewhere else. “Maybe.” Now, if she were a spider(and she has been, before, briefly. Too many limbs, in her opinion; it’s just impractical), where would she hide? Her eyes search the room and land on the wardrobe. She edges toward it, and as she grabs one handle, the Master grabs the other. “Three, two…”

They yank it open, finding it empty, or at least empty of spiders. She closes it again. That’s only a minor relief, really. Where else would it be?

Ryan answers that question for her, kneeling down to look under the wardrobe. He jolts back up with a yelp, and a spider easily as big as a housecat comes skittering out from underneath.

“Look at the size of it!” he exclaims.

The Doctor inches back toward the door. “No sudden moves,” she whispers.

“It’s domestic, but it’s way too big,” Jade mutters. “It’s not harmful.”

“I would argue the contrary,” the Master says. “Though it’s sort of cute, don’t you think, Doctor?”

“Let’s put a door between us,” suggests the Doctor, pointedly not answering him. “When I say ‘now’, quick as you can.”

Slowly, she opens the door. As soon as it’s wide enough to fit them, she gestures them through. “Go, go, go!” She slams the door as soon as she gets through. “Ryan, keep it in there! Back in a sec!” she yells as she dashes up the stairs. The kitchen, she needs the kitchen.

She finds the kitchen and starts digging through cupboards and cabinets. The Master’s on the opposite side, helping her search.

“Doctor!” she hears Ryan shout. “It’s coming through!”

“Can’t keep it in the bedroom,” Jade says, and when did Jade get here? “Rubbish chute, maybe that’s how it got in. Can we drive it out through there?”

“Oh, yes, and let it loose on the whole city, great plan,” the Master replies.

“He’s right, need to keep it isolated here,” the Doctor says as she digs through the fridge. “I found the vinegar, have you got the garlic?”

The Master holds up a package of crushed garlic. She nods and begins spreading the vinegar across the hallway just outside the stairs while he does the same with the garlic. “Not ideal, but it’ll work. Ryan, get up here!”

“Oi, you just covered me in vinegar!” he complains.

“Spiders’ feet are their noses, and they  _ hate _ the smell of garlic,” she explains. “And the acetic acid in the vinegar means it won’t come any further.” Hopefully.

There’s a crunching sound as the bedroom door below finally gives way. She leans her head out, hoping to spot it.

“Where is it?” Ryan asks.

Very little in the world can compare to the wrongness of hearing footsteps on the ceiling. There’s a chorus of gasps as everyone looks up and sees the spider, clinging to the ceiling above them. It reaches the garlic, and slowly releases a thread of silk, sinking through the air to the ground almost like a trapeze artist. The Doctor kneels down.

“Hi,” she says. “We don’t mean you any harm. You’re not supposed to be this big, and you’re definitely not supposed to attack humans. You stay here, until I figure this out. Deal?” She places the vinegar on the floor and stands. “Let’s go.”

They practically run out of the flat, and while the Doctor doesn’t actually slam the door shut, it’s a near thing. She kneels down to check through the mail slot again.

“Oh, I did not like that,” Ryan groans.

“Jade McIntyre, who are you exactly?” she demands, standing. “I saw you check those cobwebs, and you weren’t surprised.”

Jade opens her mouth to answer, but is interrupted.

“Hey! You’ll never guess what we just found in the loft room!” Graham shouts, jogging towards them, Grace beside him.

“It better not be a massive spider,” Ryan says, already mostly resigned to the answer.

“Almost, like a spider’d just shed its skin,” Grace replies.

“A woman has died,” the Doctor snarls, not letting herself get distracted, “and I think you know more than you’re telling.”

Jade shakes her head. “This… isn’t the first incident. Something’s happening with the spiders in this city. They’re out of control.”

  
  


Jade takes them back to her lab at the university. As they walk over, she explains that both she and Anna had been involved in a program studying spiders specifically, but generally all arachnids and arthropods. Recently, they’d noticed odd behaviours in the local spider population, odd enough to be worth researching.

“So what sort of research are you doing in here?” the Doctor asks once they’re in the lab. There’s all sorts of spider-related things; spiders in tanks, exoskeletons, diagrams.

“Reminds me a bit of Ushas’ lab,” the Master whispers.

She smiles fondly at the memory of their friend. He isn’t wrong, either; the organized clutter of scientific instruments is familiar, bringing back evenings spent pestering Ushas while she tried to work(and occasionally threatened to use them for test subjects.)

“We’re interested in utilizing the genetic strengths of arachnids,” Jade explains. “Ordinary spider silk is as strong as steel, or as tough as Kevlar.”

Jade goes on to explain how she’d also been working on an enzyme to increase the lifespan of spiders; Anna had been on the administration team for the project. She’d also been tracking reports of strange spider activity across southern Sheffield. As she flips a whiteboard over to show a map, with each reported location marked and pinned, it clicks for the Doctor. Grabbing a marker, she begins to connect the points, all surrounding  _ somewhere _ important. When Jade tells her where that somewhere is, it almost seems too perfect.

  
  


As everyone squishes into Jade’s car, the Doctor can’t help but remember trying to fit all six of them into Yaz’s police car. Strange, how time passes; for her and the rest of her fam(she’s calling them that, now, she’s decided), it’s been almost three weeks; for Grace, less than half of that. As a Time Lord, it’s nothing unfamiliar, but she always wonders how the humans feel.

When she can see the hotel, she pulls out her phone and calls Yaz. When that doesn’t work, she sonics it quickly, and calls Yaz’s mum.

She picks up quickly. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Yasmin Khan’s mum?” the Doctor asks.

“Yeah.”

“Can you get her please? Tell her it’s the Doctor.”

There’s a moment, and then she hears Yaz’s voice. “Hi, Doctor. You’re never gonna believe it."

The Doctor cuts her off - not trying to be rude, just urgent. She’s already outside the doors to the hotel. “Are you at the hotel where your mum works?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you let us in?”

  
  


It takes a minute for Yaz to oblige, but eventually they’re inside the hotel. The lobby is still a work in progress, sheets draped over columns and ladders leaned up against walls. There’s even a white plastic sheet over the floor.

“Hi!” the Doctor smiles, greeting the older woman who must be - “Yaz’s mum!”

“Najia,” she says, then lowers her voice. “Yaz, they can’t be here.”

“Najia, you made a very awesome human,” the Doctor informs her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

And then the screaming and gunshots start. It’s the sort of thing she’s come to expect, over the centuries; as soon as she gets somewhere new, there’s screaming and/or gunshots. Typically both, and sometimes explosions, too.

“Was that gunshots?” Ryan asks.

“Come on,” she says.


	23. Corner Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know how ya'll have been handling the quarantine, but I spent 4 hours today DMing a DnD game for some friends over Discord. How are you guys handling the social distancing?

The Doctor follows the sound of screaming and gunshots to an upper hallway. Just as they’ve nearly reached the source, an older man in a suit almost falls out of the door and against the opposite wall.

“You are _joking_ ,” Graham says.

“No way,” Ryan breaths.

“Oh no,” sighs Jade.

To the Doctor, the man honestly doesn’t look worth all that reaction. Mostly, he looks terrified. She pulls out her psychic paper and shoves it in his face.

“Crisis investigators,” she says. “You just ran really quickly out of a room, looking really scared. Tell me exactly what’s going on, omitting no detail, no matter how strange.”

“A giant spider just smashed through my bathtub and took out my bodyguard, Kevin,” the man answers obediently, which is especially shocking since he sounds American.

She honestly didn’t expect such a good answer. “Right, very succinct summary, well done,” she nods. “You just wait here with my people,” she says, pointing to the rest of her entourage. “Spider smashed through your bath. Right.”

The Master follows her into the suite. The bedroom is clear of cobwebs, which is unexpected, but when she pushes open the door to the bathroom, she isn’t disappointed. The huge bathtub is demolished, rubble strewn across the whole room. She leans down to sonic it, but doesn’t learn anything new. There’s a spider lurking underneath it, inside the gaping hole where the tub used to be, big surprise.

She kneels down and lays flat so she can stick her head into the hole. The Master sighs.

“Dear, this is how people get eaten,” he remarks.

“Yeah, well, I’m not people, you should know this by now,” she replies.

She’s probably imagining the fondness in his voice when he says, “No, you certainly aren’t. Do you see it?”

Her entire upper body is inside the hole now, and she’s got her hands braced on a pair of pipes. Turning her head, she spots the spider. It’s massive, certainly as big as the bathtub it’s hiding beneath. It hisses and raises its front legs at her.

“Yep!” she yelps, pulling herself back out of the hole. “Definitely down there! No sign of Kevin, probably too late for him.”

“How unfortunate,” the Master says as she moves past him towards the door. “Remind me to mourn.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” she scolds, stepping out into the hall again.

“Did you see it?” the man demands. “Did you find him? Where’s Kevin?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking, dead,” the Master answers.

“We need to move out of this area, quick,” the Doctor says. “It’s too dark, too deserted. Spiders love that. We need to go somewhere bright and busy.”

“Nononononono,” the man argues. “We need to get as far away from that thing as possible.”

“I’m with him,” Ryan agrees.

“I know the way out,” Yaz’s mum offers.

Not ideal for studying the spiders, but if it keeps them safe...

“Everyone, follow Yaz’s mum!” the Doctor says.

“It’s Najia!” she corrects.

  
  


Running down the escalators into the lobby, the Doctor sees their hope for escape vanish. The doors have been blocked off with layer upon layer of cobweb. The doors are barely visible behind the cover of webbing, and it doesn’t look like their exit will be quite as easy as they had hoped.

“Oh, that’s bad,” Ryan mutters.

The Doctor’s running to the webs, already pulling out her sonic to scan.

“We just came in that way!” Yaz exclaims. “How’d they build so many webs so fast?”

“Don’t mind that, let’s just get through them,” Graham says.

“I don’t know if that’ll work, love,” Grace points out, and she’s right; the webs are too densely layered to move through without being caught.

“No, this can’t be happening,” the man mutters. “This is a protest, one of those eco-protests, huh? This isn’t spiders, spiders can’t do that.”

And there’s the American stubbornness the Doctor had been dreading.

“Obviously they can. They’re trapping us, making the whole building into their web,” the Master says.

“And we’re the flies,” she whispers. “We’re not leaving, we have to find out why they’re here and stop them getting any further. We need to find a safe haven.” She turns to Najia, looking for help. “Yaz’s mum?”

“Kitchen?” she suggests.

Perfect. “Lead on!”

  
  


The Doctor flips on the lights and looks around; clean, stainless steel work surfaces, the room is filled with bright white light from the industrial lights above, and the few entrances and exits are clearly visible. In short, it’s the ideal place to plan from.

“Ah, good, this’ll do,” she says. “Okay, thinking. Need to be quick, spiders moving fast. _Why_ is this hotel the epicenter of spider activity?”

It doesn’t make much sense, really. A random hotel in the middle of the city, nothing special about it… maybe something under the hotel? She makes a note to ask about that.

“Wait!” the American shouts. “Nobody talk! Until you tell me what you’re all doing here.” He pauses. “Spiders? Plural?”

“Very plural,” the Doctor says, apologetically. She leans forward across the counter. “Sorry, I don’t know who you are.”

“Oh, really?” the man almost laughs. “‘Cause you must be the only person on the planet who doesn’t.”

She thinks about it. “Are you Ed Sheeran?” Turning to face the others, she asks, “Is he Ed Sheeran? Everyone talks about Ed Sheeran round about now, don’t they?”

The Master laughs. She doesn’t know why, it’s a reasonable guess.

The man looks somewhere between baffled and offended. Mostly offended. “I am _not_ Ed Sheeran. I’m Jack Robertson, and this is my hotel. Just one hotel in an incredibly successful chain of hotels, which is just one small part of my business portfolio, as featured in Fortune Global 500. Does that,” he asks patronizingly, “ring a bell?"

“Should I look impressed right now?” she asks. “Is that impressive?”

Yaz shakes her head.

“He’s running for president in 2020,” Graham adds.

“Ed Sheeran?”

“No, him. Robertson. Aren’t you?” Graham asks.

“I haven’t declared my intentions yet,” he snaps. “But, look, we’re talking about spiders!”

“Ooh, if you make it, I’ll have killed one of your predecessors!” the Master grins. “Technically. Didn’t stick, but it was _so_ fun. Arthur Winters, remember him?”

The man’s eyes go wide and his face goes pale. “What?”

“Don’t bring that up,” the Doctor snaps, glaring. Then, to not-Ed Sheeran, “Ignore him.”

“What is he talking about?” he asks, panicked.

Before the Master can answer - and from the look on his face, answer honestly - the Doctor shushes him. Telepathically, she projects a distinct feeling of annoyance.

“ _What?_ ” he whines. “ _I’m just having a little fun._ ”

“ _You’re scaring him, deliberately,_ ” she replies. “ _And there’s no need for it._ ”

“ _You can’t tell me you aren’t a little bit tempted to let him get eaten, love,_ ” he argues; she’d never admit it, but he isn’t wrong.

“ _Doesn’t matter, I’d like to get everyone out of this alive, even him. So please, tone down the,_ ” and there isn’t a succinct word for ‘acting as terrifying and alien as possible to freak out the humans’, so she sends the general feeling instead. He’ll get the idea. From the way he rolls his eyes, he gets the idea.

Yaz breaks the silence among the humans. “So, what do we do?”

“Why are you asking her?” not-Ed Sheeran demands.

“‘Cause she’s in charge, bro,” Ryan says, as if it were obvious.

“Says who?”

“Says us!” everyone replies indignantly. Almost everyone; Najia seems a little shocked.

“How do you all know each other?” she asks Yaz.

“Mum, can you shut up a second?” Yaz groans.

“Right!” the Doctor interjects, cutting off Najia’s reply. “We need two things; plans of the hotel, and a captive spider.”

There’s a pause, where all the humans clearly consider resorting to ‘not it!’ to get out of spider duty. Luckily for them, the Master seems all too delighted to do it.

“I’ll get the spider!” he offers, grinning.

The humans breathe a collective sigh of relief. The Doctor doesn’t - she’s more than a little concerned about his enthusiasm.

  
  


Grace goes to help the Master with catching a spider, and everyone else stays in the kitchen, where they should be safe. Najia leads the Doctor, Yaz, and not-Ed Sheeran(the Doctor knows his name, she just doesn’t care enough to change it in her head) to her office for the plans. Her office is organized; it takes her less than a minute to find the folder she needs and hand it to the Doctor.

“Now, hotel plans, let’s see,” she mutters, opening up the blueprints.

“That can’t be accurate,” not-Ed Sheeran protests, “it doesn’t even have my panic room marked on it.”

The Doctor looks at him in disbelief. There’s no way he’s serious.

“Any issues with spiders before today, Najia?” she says, changing the subject. “Here or at home.”

“My home?” Najia asks.

“One of your neighbors had a spider problem,” the Doctor replies. “The link between both places is you.”

“I knew it,” not-Ed Sheeran snarls. “And I’m going to litigate you until your last breath, Nadia.”

He’s very lucky that she’s too busy trying to solve this puzzle to deal with him, the Doctor thinks. Maybe Koschei was right; she could just leave him and let the spiders get him. Not that she would. But it’s so very tempting.

“It’s Najia,” snaps Yaz’s mum. “And I’ve done nothing.”

“Are you sure?” the Doctor says; not because she doubts her, but because if she’s telling the truth, then the Doctor is missing some piece to the puzzle.

“Sorry, but who are you?” Najia asks, in a tone the Doctor’s heard a few too many times from a few too many protective mothers, usually before getting slapped. “How do you know my daughter? Why haven’t I met you before?”

“Oh, not now,” Yaz sighs.

“Yes now, it’s not a difficult question.”

“It is a bit of a long answer,” the Doctor points out, shoving papers back in their folders.

“Well, I’ve got time,” Nadia says, and the Doctor flashes back to the first time Jackie Tyler slapped her.

“But I haven’t. Not right now.”

“Are you two seeing each other?” Najia asks after a moment.

Yaz and the Doctor share a look of utter bafflement. For a minute, the Doctor’s genuinely confused; why would Najia think that? Isn’t it obvious she and the Master are... well, okay, now that she thinks about it their relationship isn’t very well-defined, so it’s reasonable that Najia missed it. ‘Childhood friends turned mortal nemeses/partners’ isn’t a very common thing, especially not on Earth at this time.

Yaz is nice enough to save her from the floundering response she begins. “No, Mum, we’re friends.”

The Doctor nods gratefully and looks at the blueprints again, searching for a possible place to contain the spiders.

“I owe the Doctor my life, quite a few times over,” Yaz continues.

“What’s the supposed to mean?” asks Najia.

“Please can we not have this conversation now?” Yaz snaps. She glances at not-Ed Sheeran. “And not in front of _him_.”

“Oh, I’m enjoying this,” he says, and the Doctor once again considers leaving him to the spiders. But not yet, she needs answers.

“How long did it take you to build this hotel?” she asks him.

“Five years,” he replies. “We have fifteen of these hotels throughout the world, now. Repurposing former industrial sites into luxury leisure venues.”

Oh, now that’s interesting. “Repurposing? What was the site before?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have… clarity on that.”

“I do,” Najia says. “Coal mines. This was mining land.”

Now things are starting to make sense. She needs to get under this hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remembered while re-watching Arachnids in the UK for Research Reasons that, oh yeah, the Master canonically killed an American president! That felt like the kind of thing I couldn't leave out, especially given the perfect lead-in to mention it.  
> EDIT 06/26/2020: Tsukana on tumblr made an amazing gifset of one of the scenes [ here!](https://tsukana.tumblr.com/post/621961961337438208/should-i-stay-or-should-i-go-by)


	24. Moria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, featuring even more spiders! Whoo hoo!

The spider isn’t hard to catch; there’s dozens of them filling the halls. All the Master really has to do is get into position and wait. After a minute(68 seconds, if he’s being precise), one skitters down the hall, spots him, and turns. He crouches down, extends a hand, and makes a little ‘pstpstpst’ noise, like most people would for a cat.

Intrigued, the spider moves toward him. It’s a pretty color, he thinks, watching it cautiously approach. Very nice patterning on the pedipalps.

“Now, if I weren’t sure you’d bite me, I’d just pick you up and carry you back,” he whispers. “And while it would be so very fun to scare the humans, they might hurt you. So, you’re going to need to get in the pot.”

He gestures Grace out from her hiding spot, and the spider backs up a bit.

“Come here, come on, that’s a good spider,” he coaxes.

It creeps forward again, slowly. Grace puts the pot she took from the kitchen on the floor and the spider crawls into it. The Master lifts it up and places the lid on top.

“Good spider,” he repeats. “Might just keep you.”

Grace shakes her head. “You know she won’t let you.”

He grins. “It’s only fair. I’m letting her keep you lot.”

“We’ve just passed the entrance to the back of the spa,” Najia announces, looking down at the blueprints as they walk through the hall. “We should be here now.”

“You’re not going down there, it’s too dangerous,” not-Ed Sheeran protests.

“I eat danger for breakfast,” the Doctor retorts. Turning to Yaz, she admits, “I don’t. I prefer cereal. Or croissants. Or! Those little fried Portugese… never mind, it’s not important.”

They pass through a doorway, and there seems to be another set of doors ahead. They’re closed, and all sorts of warnings are plastered across them.

“Ah, see?” not-Ed Sheeran(she really needs to start calling him by his name, it’s getting annoying) says triumphantly, pointing. “‘Keep Out: Danger of Death’! You are not _authorized_ to go in here.”

“Dude,” the Doctor says, and is she the kind of person to say ‘dude’ now? Well, she’d done it in her last body. “I have all the authorization I ever need.” She pulls out her sonic and quickly breaks the keypad in a burst of sparks, then turns to look at Yaz. “I call people dude now.”

Before she can step through the door, she hears two sets of urgent footsteps. Jade is jogging up to her, the Master behind her.

“Doctor, I really need to speak to you,” Jade says.

“Well, you need to do it as we walk,” she replies, opening the door. “There’s something behind this door that people want to keep locked away.”

“Oh, sure, it’s a party,” Robertson says sarcastically, leaning in front of the door. “Everybody can come.”

“Thank you,” the Master says, giving him a saccharine grin and stepping past him. Roberston shivers and stands back a bit after that.

Yaz turns the lights on, revealing the long stretch of rocky tunnel in front of them. It’s clearly an old mining tunnel, and where it leads is a mystery - one the Doctor plans to solve.

“Doctor, my best enemy, light of my lives, nearest and dearest to my hearts, the only person in this universe worth keeping around,” the Master begins, catching up with her and looking at her innocently. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Already, she can tell she isn’t going to like how this ends. “What?”

“I want to keep one of the spiders. Specifically, I want to keep Georg,” he says.

“Who’s Georg?”

“The spider I caught. Look, I’m letting you keep the humans.”

She gapes at him. “A, that’s not even close to the same thing. Secondly, where would we keep him? Three, why?”

“Yes it is and you know it, probably in the TARDIS, and because I asked you so very, very nicely and you want to encourage good, non-murder-y behaviour from me,” he answers promptly.

He’s still doing the puppy dog eyes, and she can’t help but think that it’s awfully unfair that he can do that. He looks so sad and sweet like that, and if it weren’t for the fact that she wasn’t sensing any telepathy, she’d have thought he was using a hypnotic suggestion. Either way, it’s cheating. The Doctor was doomed from the second he asked.

“If the spiders don’t turn out to be alien, fine,” she sighs. “But you have to feed him.”

He smiles, bright and sunny and thoroughly smug, and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you, love!”

“You two are utterly insane,” Robertson mutters. “Don’t even know why I’m letting you come down here.”

“Because she wouldn’t listen if you told her not to,” the Master replies. “What’s so scary you’re hiding it down here, anyhow?”

“Nothing!” he snaps, perhaps just a touch too defensive. “They’re just old mining tunnels. We built the hotel on top of them, and it’s what we’ve done for all the others. Everywhere in the world has some place they want covered up.”

The Master tilts his head and looks at him. “You’re hiding something.”

“I have nothing to hide,” he says, in perhaps the worst lie the Doctor’s heard since Missy tried to convince her that she wasn’t cheating at Go Fish.

Any further interrogation is halted by the sight of several strange cocoon-like structures hanging from the ceiling of the room they’ve entered. The whole place is covered in cobwebs, but the structures seem to be the most densely-covered. If she’s right about what they are, there’s a reason for that.

“What are they?” Yaz asks, voice slowly growing horrified.

“Oh, my God,” Najia gasps.

“You guys, stay back,” the Doctor says, holding a hand out. “Keep an eye out for me.”

Slowly, she approaches a cocoon. Grimacing, she digs her fingers into the thin, sticky webbing on the front and yanks it apart. Just like she feared, it reveals a face, pale and lifeless.

“Oh, my God,” Robertson breathes.

“Do you know who this is?” she asks him.

“Her name is Frankie,” he answers slowly. “Look what they did to her…”

“Why are they in cocoons?” Yaz wonders.

“Meal planning,” the Master replies, just a hint too delighted about it. Yaz grimaces.

“Spiders don’t eat people!” Jade protests.

“Stored, but not eaten yet,” the Doctor says. “They’re outsized and confused, all their behavioural patterns have been disrupted. I don’t think I like this.”

“Doesn’t make any sense,” Jade mutters. “This is _not_ what spiders do.”

The Master yanks open the next cocoon. Robertson gasps.

“I’m guessing that’s Kevin?” says the Doctor.

He nods mutely.

“Doctor?” Yaz calls from deeper within the cavern.

“You don’t need to go any deeper!” Robertson says, trying to sound authoritative. Mostly, he sounds concerned.

The Doctor heads towards Yaz. “What is it?”

Yaz points, and the Doctor looks. After a narrow pathway, the cave opens into a much larger cavern, easily miles long, filled with trash. Her suspicion mounts; either Robertson was lying about not knowing what’s under the hotel, or something even weirder than she expected is going on.

  
  


The Master hangs back, just enough to see Robertson grab the gun off his bodyguard’s corpse. He takes the opportunity to have a little fun and prevent any… mistakes.

As Robertson walks past him, he says, “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re just unobservant, and not a total fool. The Doctor does not like guns. I don’t like the Doctor being upset, or at least not when it isn’t my doing. You’re probably thinking you can shoot either her, me, or the spiders, and I’m just going to warn you now - the first two won’t work, at least not in the way you’re hoping they will, and the third will still probably end with you in pain. I have no qualms about feeding you to the spiders or just leaving your body down here to rot if you should try anything. Are we clear?”

The man freezes. “You don’t scare me,” he blusters. “Whoever you are, you wouldn’t dare.”

The Master smiles, all sharp teeth and cold eyes. “Wouldn’t I?”

  
  


The Doctor’s busy scanning the cavern for any sign of what might have set the spiders off when the Master and Robertson, who looks shaken, enter.

“Your hotel’s built on landfill?” Najia asks him, accusing.

“I have a lot of companies, okay?” he snaps, then sighs. ”JLR does corporate waste disposal. Very efficient, _very_ highly-rated internationally.”

“You fill up disused mines with landfill waste and build a luxury hotel on top,” the Doctor says, not so much asking as clarifying something she _really_ doesn’t want to be true.

“Smart business planning,” he retorts. “Perfect vertical integration.”

As if that helps. As if that _matters_. As if she cares right now about vertical integration when people are dying in their homes because he cut corners to make a profit. She’s pretty sure Najia asked a question, but she isn’t listening.

“Not quite perfect, I’m afraid. Not quite _efficient_ ,” she says. “A blocked-in site, pumping out methane and sulphides and trichloroethylene, never mind the specialist materials that haven’t been properly preserved! A soup of toxic waste, incredibly badly-managed.” She shares a glance with the Master; they’ve both figured out what’s going on now. If not the details, then at least the general idea of how things got where they are now. “I mean, there’s no outlet for it, it’s just building and marinating and becoming more and more toxic! It’s a botched job.”

“I didn’t know,” he says, and she doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Like I told you, dear, normal human mistake,” the Master mutters. “You owe me a trip somewhere exciting.”

Before she can inform him that no, she doesn’t owe him anything, she’s letting him keep the spider, Robertson speaks.

“Okay, alright, you’re right,” he sighs, patronizing and slow. “That’s why I came here. Apparently, JLR was a little overzealous in cutting corners and worried about keeping the bottom line instead of doing the right thing. _But_ , I just sign the contracts, okay?” He smiles, trying for charming but missing. “I expect other people to do their jobs. This is not on me.”

“Don’t you even care?” the Doctor says, cold fury seeping into her tone.

“Look, I’m going to pay you all off,” he says dismissively. “You’ll never have to work again.”

She makes a face at that, and the Master raises his eyebrows.

 _“He’s doing this all wrong,_ ” he points out. “ _You’re supposed to threaten them, then offer to pay them off instead so it seems like the lesser of two evils. Honestly, amateurs."_

The Doctor hits him in the arm.

“I like working,” Najia snaps. “And do you know the worst thing? Bits of this is leaking out above here, it’s in my kitchen. My husband’s right; it’s a conspiracy.” She shakes her head. “Do you have any idea how annoying it is when my husband’s right?”

“Look, I’ve never even been down here,” Robertson protests. “It doesn’t even add up.”

“It does for me,” Jade says suddenly. The Doctor turns to face her. “JLR disposal. JLR takes the waste from our lab. Our aborted experiments and… our spider carcasses.”

“And they’re all in there!” the Doctor gasps. “Your spider carcasses and his toxic waste!”

“Not my fault!” Robertson says. “I didn’t know anything about spider carcasses!”

“‘ _Course_ you didn’t,” Jade says sarcastically. “You don’t know anything. You just avoid taking any responsibility.” When he doesn’t answer, she turns back to the Doctor. “I’m running through our work, stuff we shut down. Spiders bioengineered for stronger cobwebs, prolonged life -”

“Because spiders can keep growing,” the Doctor interjects, as the pieces to the puzzle click together. “As long as they live.”

“So if you forgot to kill something properly,” the Master muses, “it could have mutated, bred, and kept on growing down here…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't blame me, blame the Thoschei discord server. Georg was a joke originally and I only kept him because they seemed so enthused about him. And because the mental image of a random cat-sized spider lurking in the TARDIS amuses me


	25. Arachne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wraps up the Arachnids in the UK arc, with a bit of a nicer ending

The Doctor leads the mad rush back to the kitchen, coat flying behind her and the Master’s hand in hers. She doesn’t know when that last part became habit, but if he’s not going to mention it, neither is she. As they barrel into the kitchen, she almost hits Ryan as he comes in the opposite door. They start shouting at the same time.

“We found out what’s going on!” she yells.

“Massive spider in the ballroom!” gasps Ryan.

That catches her attention. “How massive?”

“Size,” Graham pants, leaning against the counter, “of a large van.”

“Oh,” she says. “That is massive.”

“Seemed hungry,” Grace adds.

“Must be the mother,” Jade says. “And the rest are the babies! Some stayed here, some went out into the city, their pheromones disrupting the spider ecosystem, causing other spiders to behave abnormally.”

The Doctor gasps. “Of course! Najia, you were never the link. Your colleague, Anna, what if she had the same pheromones on her?”

“No wonder the spider was there, it was following the familiarity,” the Master says. “She just got unlucky.”

“Very unlucky,” the Doctor agrees. “Because that’s why all the spiders are here now. In the end, every living thing has the same instinct - to come back home.”

“That’s very touching,” Robertson snaps. “But there’s a plague in my hotel! And it needs to be fixed.”

“Technically, it’s an infestation,” the Master corrects helpfully.

Robertson glares at him. The Master smiles, and Robertson shivers.

“Show me your panic room,” the Doctor says suddenly. She has at least 1/7th of a plan, and the panic room is a big part of it.

  
  


After going through a quite frankly absurd level of security - and for the Doctor, having worked in UNIT, that’s saying something - Robertson shows them into his panic room. He opens the heavy metal door, protected by an eye scanner, two different keypads, and an ID card scanner, with grandeur.

“My lockdown palace,” he says, gesturing. “I have one in every hotel. Just in case it’s needed.” They follow him inside. “Not finished yet, but still... “

There’s crates filling the room, stacked on top of each other and shoved against the walls. A huge TV screen takes up most of one wall; presumably, it shows security footage from across the hotel when it’s on. In other words, it’s a big, lockable room without anything too important, which is exactly what the Doctor needs.

“What’s in the boxes?” Ryan asks.

“Food, water, entertainment system, a book,” Robertson shrugs. “I could survive in here for six months if I needed to. And, I’ve got a huge stash of weapons. Enough for all of us, enough for two guns apiece.”

Ryan voices the Doctor’s opinion before she can. “Oh, mate, she’s not gonna like that.”

“No, I’m not,” she says, stepping towards him. “You are not shooting those creatures.”

“Told ya,” Ryan sighs.

“They’re mutants,” Robertson snarls.

“Caused by you,” Jade points out.

“Your carcasses, lady,” he retorts. “Not mine.”

“Whatever happened,” the Doctor says, interrupting the shouting match she can see building, “there’re living, breathing organisms out there, and we treat them with dignity. So, here’s what we’re going to do -”

“Shoot ‘em!” Robertson shouts.

“We’re not going to shoot them!” she snaps.

Robertson opens his mouth to continue his tirade, then stops. Glancing over, the Doctor can see the way the Master’s looking at him. It’s a look somewhere between ‘Don’t even think about it’ and ‘I won’t hesitate to kill you’. The Doctor gets the sneaky feeling she missed something.

“Right, here’s what I’m thinking!” she says, filling the silence. “The spiders in this hotel are looking for food. We lure them in here, trap them, and then deal with the spider mother in the ballroom.” She pauses. “Oh, that sounds like the best novel Edith Wharton never wrote.”

“What happens once they’re in the room?” Grace asks.

“We shut them in and isolate them,” Jade answers.

Robertson holds up a finger. “You’re going to let spiders use my panic room?”

“They deserve a humane, natural death,” Jade says.

"Shooting's quicker," he mutters under his breath.

“So how are you going to lure them?” asks Graham.

The Doctor hadn’t thought quite that far ahead. “Spiders gravitate to their food through vibration. Any ideas?”

“Easy!” Ryan says. “Raze. Am I right?”

Yaz looks at him in bafflement. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yaz,” Ryan sighs, shaking his head, “you’re so uncool right now.”

He walks over to the sound system and pulls out his phone. A few seconds later, music begins blasting from the speakers, the heavy beat thudding through the building. Robertson recoils, but the Doctor smiles. It’s perfect.

  
  


With Najia’s help, the Doctor directs the humans to a variety of hiding places around the hotel to make sure that once the spiders get past them they can’t backtrack. Yaz and Ryan take the first location, in the hall just outside the tunnels. Graham, Grace, and Najia are in the lobby, the Doctor and Jade are in the kitchen, and Robertson and the Master are near the panic room. Once Yaz and Ryan finish their part, they head back to the kitchen. The Doctor leads them to the swimming pool.

“Now, I need you two to go in the spa and grab every bottle of essential oils you can,” she says.

“What are we going to do, spa them into submission?” Yaz asks, half-joking.

“Pretty much!” the Doctor answers with a grin. “Meet you outside the ballroom!”

She backtracks, grabbing some extra equipment that she’ll need; a backpack-like tank and nozzle. Once everyone’s gathered at the doors to the ballroom, Yaz and Ryan holding as many essential oils as they can fit in their arms, the Doctor begins to explain.

“We’re going to go in there, and I’m going to use those oils you grabbed,” she says, taking one of the jugs and emptying it into the tank, “to try and herd the spider out of the room. Tea tree and peppermint make great spider repellant, so hopefully it’ll work!”

“Hopefully?” says Graham.

“Well, I’ve never really done this before, so… not sure!”

“Oh, that’s so reassuring,” he mutters.

“Hush, love, her plans have worked before,” Grace points out.

“Thank you, Grace! Ten points to you,” the Doctor says as she stands. “Now, come on!”

With that, she pushes open the door. It’s hard to miss the spider - Graham wasn’t exaggerating about the size. Her body is the size of one of the doors and her legs stretch almost to the top of the railing on the second level. She’s trying to climb the wall, seemingly to no avail.

“Ooh,” the Doctor whispers. “Very big spider.”   


“Let me get this clear, before we start,” Graham says. “You want us to herd out a giant spider? They have been attacking people.”

Jade speaks before she can answer. “Stop a second! Can you see that?”

Looking closer, the spider seems to be struggling. Each attempt to scale the wall, something that should have been easy for her, grows weaker and weaker. Faint, pained noises are just barely audible over the sound of her legs skittering.

“She’s grown too big,” the Doctor realizes.

“She’s suffocating,” Jade notes. “She’s got too big to breathe efficiently. Even moving around in here, it’s using up what little oxygen she can absorb. She won’t survive for long. She’s more scared of us than we are of her.”

“I’m so sorry this has happened to you,” the Doctor sighs.

“So what do we do, just leave her?” asks Graham.

“That seems cruel,” Grace says, sadness plain in her voice.

One of the doors slams open, and the Doctor turns to see Robertson walking in, a gun in his hand.

“No. Absolutely not,” she snaps, voice cold.

He starts to say something, only to pause when the Master says, “It’s dying anyways. Shooting it won’t do anything.”

Robertson makes a face. “Fine. As soon as it’s dead I want all of you out of my hotel.”

The Doctor gets the same, strange sense of deja vu that she’s been getting more and more often. There’s two conflicting timelines she can see; one where Robertson didn’t listen and killed the spider anyways, and the one she’s living. From the fragmented glimpses she catches of the first one, it’s clearly the worse timeline. The Master and Grace both seem to be missing from it, and the day ends with more grief than it should have. Despite that, she keeps seeing bits and pieces of it. She shakes her head and blinks, focussing on the current timeline again.

The Master gives her a weird look, and she shakes her head again.

“ _ I’ll explain later, I promise _ ,” she thinks, and he nods.

They stand in silence, watching as the spider’s struggles grow weaker and her movements slow. Finally, she collapses backwards onto the floor of the ballroom, legs still twitching against the air. The Doctor kneels down.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” she whispers. “You don’t deserve this. But at least you got a peaceful death.” Standing, she says, “She’s dead. We should go.”

  
  


Later, after Jade dropped them all off outside of Yaz’s flat, after the Doctor’s agreed to stay until they can say a proper goodbye, the Doctor and the Master are arguing inside the TARDIS.

“He doesn’t need a whole hallway to himself!” she yells.

“One room isn’t enough space for a growing spider!” the Master retorts.

Georg, the subject of this heated debate, is exploring the console room. The shapes on the walls make for interesting climbing terrain, and they seem to be keeping him occupied enough to not wander off.

“What do you plan to feed him, anyway?” the Doctor demands, changing the subject.

The Master pauses. “People, I suppose. It’s what he’s used to eating.”

“You can’t feed him people!” she snaps. “They probably don’t have the right nutrition, you don’t know where they’ve been, and I’m not just going to let you kidnap random humans.”

“How about just the ones you don’t like?” he offers.

“No!”

“Look, I am trying to be moral about this, love! It’s not like I’m going to let him eat your humans!”

“They aren’t  _ my _ humans!”

“Oh, sure. That’s why you’re actually waiting to say goodbye to them instead of just disappearing like you usually do.”

“That’s - that’s beside the point,” the Doctor says. “The point is, you can’t feed Georg humans.”

Naturally, this is when the doors to the TARDIS swing open, and the not-the-Doctor’s humans walk in. The Doctor knows she didn’t leave the doors unlocked, so the TARDIS must have been feeling nice. She turns quickly from being almost nose-to-nose with the Master, though she can’t remember when they got that close, and faces the humans.

“A proper goodbye this time?” she says.

“About that,” Ryan starts.

“Do we have to?” Grace asks. “You’ve shown me some truly amazin’ things, and I don’t think I can just go back to my old life.”

The Doctor wasn’t expecting this. Why would they want to come with her? All she’s done is drag them into risky situations - even what was supposed to be a thank-you trip ended with Grace almost getting sacrificed. She almost says no, tells them to leave, but then she sees the look in their eyes. All of them are so determined, so full of hope. But she has to be sure.

“What about you?” she asks Graham.

“I’m not about to let Grace have all the fun, now am I?” he says, smiling.

“Ryan?”

“Do you really think I want to go back to working in that warehouse?” he asks. “No way.”

“Yaz, you wanted to come home,” the Doctor points out.

“I know,” she says. “I love my family. But they also drive me completely insane. I want more, more of the universe. More time with you. You’re like the best person I’ve ever met.”

The Master makes a derisive, annoyed noise. "You'll probably end up dead."

“You do realize he’s part of the deal, right?” the Doctor says, a sort of desperate, last-resort attempt to scare them off. “I can’t just leave him somewhere, he’ll cause all kinds of trouble. He’ll cause trouble here, too, but...”

Grace laughs. “I think you two are good for each other. And seeing the stars is worth the extra trouble.”

Finally, the Doctor gives in. A delighted smile spreads across her face. “Look at you. My fam.” She makes a face. “No, still doesn’t quite work. Team TARDIS. Welcome aboard, properly.”

She’s about to say something inspiring when Ryan shrieks and jumps. “Something touched my leg!”

Georg finally got bored of climbing the walls and instead decided to greet the humans. The Master hides his laughter, badly, and picks Georg up so he isn’t near Ryan anymore.

“Oh, that’s Georg. He’s getting his own room, don’t worry,” she says.

“Is it too late to back out?” Ryan groans.

“Yep!” the Doctor grins. “Now, allons- no, wait. Geronimo? No. Oh, whatever, just brace yourselves!”

And with that, she pulls down the lever, sending them off into the vortex. She smiles; she's missed this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like Georg, because he's here to stay. If not, don't worry, Ryan can sympathize...


	26. Interlude: Loose Threads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than usual; my weekend was busier than expected! How about you guys - it's been a week of quarantine, at least in the US, so how are you doing?

The first week or so that the humans are on board, the Doctor tries to keep their adventures peaceful. She takes them to an intergalactic amusement park, several shopping malls, and even brings them to watch the eruption of a volcano on prehistoric Earth. The Master tags along for that one, and brings popcorn, which he refuses to share.

Naturally, things don’t always go as smoothly as planned. Ryan still doesn’t trust Georg, especially since the spider seems to have a fondness for him. More than once, Ryan’s come running to the Doctor after getting ambushed by 30 pounds of cuddly arachnid from around a corner. Finally, the Doctor puts her foot down.

“He’s stressing the humans,” she informs the Master as he sprawls across the sofa in the library. “Especially Ryan. I think Georg has a crush, he keeps trying to snuggle him.”

“Ryan should be flattered,” the Master replies. “Spiders aren’t usually very affectionate.”

“He needs a room of his own. I can’t just let him go around terrorizing them.”

“And I’ve told you, it’s not enough space!” he protests, continuing the argument they’ve been having for almost five days. “At least he hasn’t tried to eat any of them yet.”

The Doctor raises her eyebrows. “How about this? One room, and he can roam when he’s being directly supervised. No kitchens, bathrooms, or bedrooms, and no lurking just around the corner from where Ryan is likely to be just to scare him. Sound fair?”

He makes a face like he’s considering arguing, realizes it’s as good as he’s likely to get, and sighs. “Fine.” Then, just as she’s leaving, he points out, “You still owe me a trip somewhere I can blow stuff up, by the way.”

  
  


The Doctor waits until a day when the humans are back in Sheffield. It’s part of the routine with new companions by now; a couple adventures to get them used to it, then a trip back home to cool down. The Master’s been getting impatient, and that means he’s been getting mean, so she takes the opportunity to deal with both problems at once. She drops the humans off, promises to pick them back up in a day or two, and then parks the TARDIS in the vortex.

“So, just the two of us for now. Still want that trip to blow things up?” she asks him.

His eyes light up. “Thought you’d never ask, love.”

There’s a few places she’s had in mind for this - abandoned planets full of ruins, lifeless planets with interesting geography, even one solar system used as a testing ground for large-scale weaponry. In the end, he picks one of the abandoned planets, citing an urge to destroy the last remnants of civilization. The Doctor lands, tells him she’d rather stay inside, and lets him go cause chaos.

Afterwards, he strolls back into the TARDIS, his suit covered in dust and dirt, his hair mussed and his eyes alight with destructive glee. She looks up from where she’s been messing with the console.

“It’s been too long since I had that much fun!” he announces. “Oh, it was so _satisfying_ to watch those buildings crumble, Doctor, you should have seen it. And those trees burnt so beautifully.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she says, keeping her tone neutral.

“Oh, come on, have a little enthusiasm,” he says, cajoling. “I know you love to blow things up too, dear, I’ve seen the look on your face when you do it. Don’t know why you didn’t come with me, you know I wouldn’t judge you. I’m not one of your little humans.”

She doesn’t respond, just turns and walks out of the control room. He’s not wrong; some little part of her had been terribly tempted to go with him, to revel in the destruction without consequences. And she knows he wouldn’t have cared, would’ve encouraged her, even, and that makes it worse. He would’ve laughed at the explosions, and she might’ve joined in, and that thought scares her more than she’ll ever admit.

“Don’t get all angsty just because I had fun without you, love, it’s unbecoming,” he calls, following her through the halls. “There’s still a few buildings I didn’t completely destroy if you’re really that upset about it. Or, no, that’s not the issue, is it? You’re upset because you actually considered coming with me and now you can’t believe you did.”

Still trying to ignore him, she enters the library and slams the door behind her. He walks right in after her, an insufferable smirk on his lips.

“Poor Doctor, realizing that causing a little chaos can be fun,” he pouts. “What ever will she do? Oh, I know! Have a crisis and make it everyone else’s problem! It’s worked _so_ well in the past.”

Finally she reacts, whirling around to snap, “And you’ve _never_ made your emotions into other people’s problems before. All those schemes to get my attention that left hundreds dead? Ringing any bells?”

“Darling, you’ve always known I was trying to get your attention. It’s hardly my fault you were so wrapped up in your humans I had to resort to desperate measures,” he says.

She doesn’t give him any warning before she launches herself at him, tackling him to the hardwood floor.

“You don’t get to blame that on me,” she snarls, and then he knees her in the stomach and any pretense of conversation is dropped.

They both fight dirty, jabbing elbows and fingers into sensitive spots, biting at each other and yanking hair. The Doctor manages to pin him to the ground at one point, panting as she plants her hands on his shoulders to keep him down. He grins up at her, and she’s torn; half wanting to punch him, maybe break his nose, and half wanting to snog him senseless.

The latter half wins out. Leaning down, she presses her lips to his in a bruising kiss. He laughs and reaches a hand up to curl into her hair, pulling her closer.

“ _Missed this, have you?_ ” he asks, teasing.

She bites his lip. “ _Not more than you have_.”

He hums. “ _I’m not the one who tried to keep herself from all physical contact for over seventy years, love._ ”

“ _Oh, shut up_ ,” she thinks, and he laughs again.

They waste almost an hour like that, tangled up in each other both physically and mentally. At some point, they move to one of the couches instead of the floor, and it eventually turns into half-asleep cuddling.

“You said you’d explain what was bothering you in the ballroom,” the Master says abruptly, his fingers carding through the Doctor’s hair.

She looks up at him, bleary eyed. “Hmm? Oh, that. Y’know how I mentioned seeing something weird in the timelines, back when we were on Desolation?”

“You said I was disrupting them. Very rude of you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” she sighs. “Anyway, it happened again. When you told Robertson not to shoot the spider, I saw two different outcomes, but you weren’t there in the other one. Or Grace, for that matter. It was just… weird.”

“I haven’t seen anything like that. From where I’m looking, the timelines are fine,” he says.

The Doctor shrugs. “It’s probably nothing.”

She’s not entirely sure that’s true, but if he isn’t seeing anything strange, then it’s likely not too bad. Anything major, he would have seen, and if her time senses were off, there would be other signs. As the calming rhythm of four hearts in sync lulls her to sleep, she reassures herself that it’s probably nothing.

When the Doctor wakes up, it’s with an important question on her mind.

“What are you planning to feed Georg?” she demands, prodding the Master in the chest to wake him.

“I told you,” he groans. “Humans.”

She sits up, annoyed. “No. No humans. You can feed him something non-sentient, but no humans.”

“But the transition from human meat to something else might hurt him!” the Master protests.

He attempts the puppy dog eyes again, but this time the Doctor’s ready for them. She shakes her head and resolutely avoids eye contact.

“No humans.”

“Dear, must you ruin _all_ my fun?” he complains.

“I’m not letting you feed him humans,” she repeats, and that’s the end of the discussion.

A few hours later, they’re back in Sheffield, picking up the humans again. They’ve agreed to meet outside Yaz’s flat again, and the Doctor even manages to make it to the right time. The Master insists it’s thanks to his helpful advice; the Doctor says that he was heckling.

When she opens the doors, all four of her companions are outside waiting. The smiles on their faces when they see her warm her hearts.

“Ready for another trip?” she asks.


	27. Red Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild descriptions of a panic attack and of bodily trauma/pain. The pain starts below the countdown, and the panic attack begins after the conversation with Cicero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the beginning of The Tsuranga Conundrum! Since schools in my area just got closed permanently for the rest of the academic year, you guys will get this much more frequent update schedule until at least August! Probably. I won't make any promises.

Finding highly specific parts compatible with Gallifreyan technology rarely seen, let alone used, by outsiders is not easy. The Doctor knows this; however, it doesn’t change the fact that she still needs replacements for all of the TARDIS’ gravity reinforcers. When she’d mentioned this to the Master, he’d suggested just going to Gallifrey and taking some. The Doctor reacted much like a cat hearing the word ‘vet’ - she had bristled, hissed something about not going there if she could help it, and then stalked off to sulk for a bit. Then she dragged her companions along to help her dig through a junk planet where she was pretty sure she’d found a couple a few centuries ago. That was almost four hours ago.

“We’re never gonna find one,” Ryan complains.

“‘Course we are!” the Doctor shouts back from atop a neighboring pile of junk. “I’ve programmed the detectors specifically. I found seven last time I was here.”

“And how long did that take ya’?” Graham asks.

“Couldn’t’ve been more than a month,” she says, then thinks about it. “Unless that was Cephalin 59…”

“Which one’s this?” asks Yaz.

“Cephalin 27.” Probably. She leans down and picks up the one part they’d managed to find. “Maybe 59’s the one with a big pile of these. That’s the problem with junk galaxies, all the planets look the same. It’s hard to keep track!”

“If we’ve wasted the last four hours on the wrong planet…” Graham begins.

“Oi! Who took you rainbathing in the upward tropics of Konstarno?” she says, cutting him off. Technically, they had also almost been sacrificed to the rain goddess, but they’d escaped in the end.

“Oh, no, no. Hey, listen, that’s amazing. I was just saying, like,” Graham gestures with his detector at the seemingly endless mounds of garbage, “needle, haystack.”

“He has a point,” Grace agrees. “We’ve been here this long and only found one? Maybe we should try another planet.”

“Yeah, you might be right,” the Doctor sighs. Just as long as she doesn’t have to make a trip to Gallifrey.

A loud whine fills the air.

“No, hold on!” Graham shouts. “I found something!”

The Doctor descends from her mountain of trash to inspect the area Graham’s pointing at. Buried under a couple hunks of metal is something flashing a warning-light red. As she pulls away the scraps, she sees why - it’s a sonic mine. A high-pitched beeping starts up.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps, standing upright.

“What’s he found?” wonders Yaz.

“Nobody move,” she orders, bending back down to scan it. “If I can keep it in temporal lock… no, there’s too many sensors, it won’t work! It’s camouflaged. This is someone’s idea of a nasty joke.”

Grace lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

10.

9.

8.

“Sonic mine,” she explains. “It’s counting down.”

6.

5.

“How long’ve we got?” Graham asks.

She begins to count with it. “Three. Two.”

The world erupts into painful, burning sound that ripples through her very bones, tearing through her body and mind like a cannonball through a sheet of paper. She can feel her organs turning to mush, her more delicate bones fracturing, her nose starting to bleed from the pressure. Her head feels split in two. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was dying, though at this point, it might be preferable. It’s a relief when she loses consciousness.

Awareness returns slowly to her; first vision, bright sterile white in place of the comforting black of closed eyes, then hearing - “I can’t find their medtags. That’s how rubbish I am at this. You’d think it’d be simple enough.” “Mabli, stop beating yourself up. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.” - distorted but better than nothing, followed by tasting the bitterness of sleep, the sharp smell of antiseptics, and finally, feeling the pain coursing through her body.

She forces herself to sit up, gasping from the effort, eyes wide.

“It’s alright, you’re safe,” says a voice, gentle and reassuring. “Just don’t make any sudden moves. Your body’ll take a moment to catch up.”

Blurs of color resolve themselves into a face, humanoid and very, very close to her. Male, if she had to guess.

“Can you point out your medtag to me?” asks another voice, higher and more feminine. Another humanoid, with curls of hair falling into their - her? - face. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Where are we?” she asks.

“A hospital,” Grace answers. “You’re the last one to wake up, love. They said you took the brunt of the blast.”

“We don’t have medtags,” Yaz says, voice rough.

“Oh!” the girl exclaims. “It wasn’t my mistake!”

“Told you,” smiles the man.

“Except you must have. We need your full bio-history; allergies, fluid levels, lifespan data,” she lists off.

“It’s basically to help us avoid killing you,” he explains, running some sort of scanner down the Doctor’s arm. “Take it slow.”

“There was a sonic mine,” she mutters.

“Yeah, the robo-dredgers notified us as they were pulling you from the debris,” he says. “We’ve stabilized your vital organs. You’re lucky they got to you first.”

The Doctor can hear Graham talking, asking something, but she’s too focussed on trying to reach out mentally and contact the Master. She isn’t getting anything, not even a faint hint of emotion. Even when they’d been separated before, just before Desolation, she’d been able to sense _something_. Maybe the sonic mine had stunned her so badly it had cut off their connection, but if that was the case, why hadn’t he come running? Unless he had planned this.

She shakes off the thought. There’s no way he could have possibly planted the mine and arranged for them to get picked up by a hospital. Even if he had, the TARDIS wouldn’t let him go anywhere without her. Though, maybe he wouldn’t need a TARDIS; the Cephalin system is full of all sorts of useful stuff, and the Master’s always been good at getting out of tricky situations. It would be child’s play for him to put together a makeshift teleporter or Vortex Manipulator and get himself to an intergalactic port, and from there…

Her rapidly spiraling train of thought is halted when she hears something familiar.

“Tsuranga’s actually agitating for the territories to be swept more fully, but...” the man is saying. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Tsuranga,” she mutters. She’s heard that before.

“Why have they done that?” he wonders, looking at one of the screens.

“I know that name,” she says. She tries standing, and immediately regrets it as her vision swims and she collapses to the floor with a grunt. “Where’ve I heard the name Tsuranga?” Both of the people - probably medical workers, she realizes - try to help her up. “Whatever. Very grateful. Need to get back to our ship.” She stands again and feels a stabbing pain lance through her side. “Come on, you lot.”

Hand still pressed to her side, though it really doesn’t do much for the pain, she stumbles out of the room and into a hallway.

“Hey!” calls the man. “Come back.”

There aren’t any signs, which the Doctor thinks is very rude of them. “Which way’s out?”

“Can you return to the assessment zone please?” he says insistently. “We’re not discharging you, you need to rest.”

“I appreciate how much you’ve looked after us,” she says, “but, my ship is very valuable, and I sort of left it unattended with someone who has a track record for planet-wide genocides when left alone. It’s also my home, _our_ home. And I’m worried about leaving it here, on a junk planet, where people come and scavenge. I might never see it again, or the planet might get blown up, or both.” 

“Wait here,” he says.

The Doctor ignores him. “This way out.”

The hall she leads her companions down does not lead out of the hospital, much to her disappointment. The door she thought was an exit takes her into another room, occupied by three people who she’s pretty sure were having an argument before she entered.

“Sorry,” she says as all three of them turn to face her. “Looking for the exit. There’s no signs!”

“General Cicero’s privacy indicators are clearly on,” states one of the people. From the almost mechanical precision of his movements and his accent, he’s an android of some kind.

“Sorry, not really up on privacy indicators,” Graham mutters.

She knows that name. “General Cicero? Not _Eve_ Cicero?” she asks, moving towards the woman. “Keeber Galaxy? Neuropilot?” No wonder she knows that name, General Cicero’s a hero. “You’re mentioned in the Book of Celebrants! You helped defeat the army of the Aeons in the Battle of the Underkind!” 

“I was one of many,” Eve says, shaking her head.

“You’re a bit of a legend, though,” the Doctor breathes.

“This is my brother Durkas,” she says, gesturing, “and my consort, Ronan.”

“When she says consort, she really means clone drone,” Durkas adds, in a tone universal to younger siblings. “Android. You can tell by the hair.”

Eve rolls her eyes. “Durkas. And who’re you?”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Wait,” she says, standing. “Aren’t you in the Book of Celebrants? Isn’t there a whole chapter about you?”

“Me? No,” the Doctor replies, feigning something resembling modesty. “Very common name. Anyway, lovely chatting, must be off. Hope you all get better soon!”

She heads for the door, then, at the last moment, her ego kicks in. Peeking her head back in, she adds, “I’d say it was more of a volume than a chapter. Just so you know.”

The hallways all look the same, and she can’t see any signs anywhere. And her side keeps twinging.

“Oh, that bit hurts,” she mutters, “Ugh, that bit _really_ hurts. Where’s the exit? Why are there no signs for the exit?” 

She can feel panic setting in. No clear way out of a hospital she doesn’t want to be in, the Master left unattended with her TARDIS, and some feeling in the back of her mind that she’s missing something important.

The next door she tries doesn’t lead to the exit either. Somehow, they get caught up in a conversation with the Giftan inside, and that’s when the young woman from earlier catches them.

“You’re here!” she exclaims. “Look, you can’t keep disturbing the other patients. Astos, found ‘em, they’re here in pod two!”

“We need to go now,” the Doctor says to the man. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, we’ll be thinking of you.”

“What’d’you mean, go?” he asks bemusedly. “How’re you gonna do that?”

She pauses. “What do you mean?”

From behind her, the man - Astos - says, “We have been trying to tell you.”

It takes a moment for her to connect the dots. Everything makes more sense, now.

“Yes, you have,” she mutters. Kneeling down, she plants her hands flat on the floor. She can feel it shudder beneath her fingers. “Vibrations. Too wrapped up in myself. Missed the vibrations!”

“I was trying to break it to you gently,” Astos says, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She doesn’t want him touching her. She doesn’t want anyone touching her right now, but especially not him, not some random person who doesn’t understand. She wants to be back on her TARDIS, safe and not feeling the inescapable panic constricting her hearts. More than anything, she wants the Master with her.

But that clearly isn’t happening, so she needs to bury the panic and focus on what she knows.

“Tsuranga. This isn’t a hospital, it’s a ship,” she says. “And we’re already in flight.”

“Tsuranga operates emergency medical transport,” Astos explains. “This is a quad-zone rescue craft.”

“Like the Red Cross,” Yaz nods.

“You’ll be fine,” the young woman reassures her, crouching beside her. “We’ll be at Resus One soon enough.”

The Doctor feels another spike of panic. Resus One is a good ways away from Cephalon 27. If they were near enough to it she’d be saying that, then how far away from the TARDIS were they?

“Uh, how long were we out for?” Ryan asks.

“Four days,” Astos answers.

Oh, that’s not good. Four days is more than enough time for the Master to have realized they were gone, built _something_ to get off the planet, and by now he’d be who knows where. She groans.

“Four days’ flight from the TARDIS,” Graham says, voicing her fears.

With a grunt, she begins to stand. “I’m walking.” The pain in her ectospleen intensifies. “Ugh! No need to walk with me. I need to walk on my own. Four days. Walking. Come on, limbs.”

She can come back and get her humans later. Right now, she needs to get off this ship, _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so yall know, the next chapter is currently called Separation Anxiety, so... do with that what you will


	28. Separation Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsuranga Part Two! The Doctor continues to have a crisis and the Master and the TARDIS have a fight

Feeling his mental connection with the Doctor snap in two with all the abruptness and jabbing pain of a broken bone was more than enough to panic the Master. He had been bonding with Georg, reading some fantasy novel while the spider wove intricate webs above him, but then a burst of pain pierced through his head and what little interest he’d had in the book was gone.

Georg’s room was situated far, far away from the main body of the TARDIS, far enough that nobody could get there on accident without being seriously lost. Therefore, it took the Master several minutes, even at a dead run, to get out of the TARDIS and see what was happening.

The mountains of junk of the planet sprawled out in front of the slammed-open doors. The Doctor and her little following of humans were nowhere to be seen, but there was a large spaceship hovering in the atmosphere above. From the looks of it, it was a hospital ship.

The Master was not panicking, because the Master does not panic. He was merely worried that something that wasn’t him may have harmed the Doctor. Though, the list of things that could have hurt her badly enough to cut off their telepathic connection, but not badly enough to prompt regeneration was a short one, and factoring in that it must have taken her by surprise… the most logical option was a sonic mine of some sort.

It doesn’t take him long to find the remnants of the mine in question, at the epicenter of an area of junk blasted away by the shock wave. Most likely left there by someone thinking it would be an amusing little prank. Well, it would be easy enough for him to track down the perpetrator. If the TARDIS would let him.

When he re-enters the TARDIS, her lights are flaring bright, distressed red. He can feel the worry she’s projecting as if it were his own.

“I know,” he mutters. “Sonic mine, it looks like. Some hospital ship picked her up. Need to go after her, but she’s unconscious, so I can’t trace her psychic signal right now.”

He reaches out to touch the console and gets shocked for his troubles. Hissing, he snaps, “I’m trying to help, you stupid thing! I just wanted to see if you could find her.”

The lights shift to a more suspicious purple.

“No, I didn’t set this up! When would I have - look, I want to find her before she gets too far away. Are you going to help me or sulk?”

A pulse of light, still untrusting.

“Fine!” he snaps. “If you would rather be petty about this instead of tracking down our idiot, that’s just  _ fine. _ I have other options.”

Fists clenched and teeth gritted, he stalks out of the TARDIS to look through the piles of garbage. He had to get off this planet somehow, and surely something there will be useful.

“Have you got onboard teleport?” the Doctor asks, stumbling down the hallways of the ship.

“No,” Astos sighs from behind her, “but there’s post-recuperation onward teleport at Resus One.”

“I don’t want to go to Resus One,” she says. Too medical-y, too many people, too many questions, too far from her TARDIS. “Let me talk to the pilot.”

“Hey, it’s not just you on board,” Astos reminds her.

She knows. She knows she’s being irrational and panicky and she’s probably worrying her humans, but she can’t bring herself to care right now. Pulling out her sonic screwdriver, she points it at one of the screens lining the walls.

“What are you doing?” Astos demands. “Don’t touch that. Patients aren’t allowed access to any onboard systems or non-medical facilities.”

He steps between her and the screen, but can’t obscure the map of the ship that appears. The Doctor remembers something.

“What were you worried about?” she asks. “Just as I was waking up, you saw something, and you were worried.”

“No,” he says, the nod of his head contradicting his words.

“Ooh, bad liar,” she mutters. “Must be difficult in your job.”

“Hey, I’m an excellent liar,” he argues.

“So you were lying then.”

He grimaces. “I didn’t say that.”

“See? Bad liar,” she says, leaning past him to sonic the screen again until the room she was looking for lights up in orange. “Nav chamber, this way.”

She takes off down the hall, only to regret it when her ectospleen lances with pain.

“Augh, still hurts!” she grunts as she moves.

“Running can disrupt the internal healing process!” Astos points out.

She ignores him and continues toward the room until she’s leaning in the doorway, hand pressed against her side, sonicing the door open. The nav chamber is the same clean, anxiety-inducing white as the rest of the ship, and it’s also completely empty of any life form.

“Enough, now, you can’t be in here,” Astos says. “I don’t know what that device is, but if you don’t leave, I have to restrain you.”

“Where’s the crew?” she demands. If she could just reason with the crew...

“Rescue crafts are automated,” he explains. “It’s a two-medic crew, just me and Mabli. Our course is remotely programmed from the Tsuranga hub at Resus One.”

Well, she can still work with this. “How do we turn it around?”

“We can’t. The course is remotely set and locked. Onboard crew don’t have privileges to unlock it.”

He says it like she’s a child throwing a temper tantrum, trying to be consoling and kind, but quickly edging towards annoyed. The Doctor doesn’t care. If she stops to think about how she’s acting, the anger at Astos for stopping her and at herself for letting this happen will collapse into despair, and she can’t let that happen, not yet. She needs to get back to her TARDIS, back to the Master.

“We’ll see about privileges,” she snarls, pointing her sonic at the console.

“Don’t!” Astos orders. “If you interfere with the navi system they’ll take it as an act of hostility or hijack. They can detonate the craft.”

“I’m not being  _ hostile _ ,” she shouts.

“Yes, you are! You’re being hostile and selfish,” he says. “There are patients on board who need to get to Resus One as a matter of urgency. My job is to keep all of you safe, you’re stopping me from doing that.”

There’s a moment where she can feel herself weighing the options; if she messes with the ship, she can probably fool the system long enough to get back to Cephalin 27, but by then it’ll likely be too late for the more urgent patients. She sighs and gives in.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right. Sorry. That mine hit me harder than I thought.”

“I’ve done 37 tours,” Astos says gently. “We will get you back safe.”

It’s not her she’s worried about, but she appreciates it. Though part of her is still worrying about where the Master is, she shoves it to the back of her mind. She can worry later.

“Where are we?” she asks, looking at the map screen. “There’s a lot of stuff out there. Space junk, asteroids.”

“We’re on the edges of the Constant Division,” he says. “That’s what threw me back there. The routing usually keeps us out of here.”

“Why?”

“It’s disputed territory. We’re only just over the boundaries, so nothing to worry about.”

“So, what’s that?” she asks, pointing.

Astos leans over her shoulder. “What’s what?”

Below her finger is a speck, flashing and beeping faintly, and getting rapidly closer to the ship.

“Not sure,” he mutters.

With perfect dramatic timing, there’s a loud crash. They both look up.

“Probably an asteroid shard,” Astos says.

As if to prove him wrong, an alarm starts blaring.

“Shield breach,” she reads off the screen, before it changes again and the alarm stops. “No, wait, reconfiguring. Resealed and solid. But something breached it, for a second.”

Astos shakes his head in confusion. A hollow metal noise clangs above them, like something moving through the air ducts.

“I’ll check the system monitors,” says Astos.

While he checks the screen, the Doctor pulls a stethoscope from an inside pocket of her coat and presses it to the wall. The metallic scraping is more intense like that, no longer dull and faint, but clear and sharp.

“Something’s inside the shields,” she says.

Astos stands. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

She doesn’t even pretend to believe that. “Bad liar, Astos.”

“Go back to your patient pod,” he orders as she moves, following the noise around the room. “I don’t know your name.”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Are you kidding?” he says incredulously.

“Sometimes,” she replies. The noise stops for a moment, which is somehow worse than when it had been continuous. “But not right now. Tell me the ship’s structure, Astos, as quick as you can.”

As she stands before the screen with the map, he explains.

“Central walkway goes all the way around. We have an assessment area in the heart, three patient pods, one emergency suite on the sides. We can perform limited medical procedures but our job is basically keep people alive until we can get them to a facility.”

“Evacuation equipment?”

“Two life pods, portside and starboard.” He taps the map on each one. “Maximum six per pod. We’re just within our occupancy limit.”

“Well, that’s good.” At least there’s that.

“This ship was designed for a hundred thousand tours,” he says as he does something to the console. “It can withstand a hell of a lot.”

“Who’re you trying to reassure, me or yourself?” she asks him.

Before he answers, the lights go dim and a high-pitched beeping starts up. The map screen shows something in one of the life pods.

“That’s the breach alert,” Astos says.

“It’s in the portside life pod,” the Doctor informs him, though she still doesn’t know what ‘it’ is.

“Can’t be.”

Instead of something about stating the obvious, she asks, “Are there comms in the life pods?”

There’s a crackling noise as he connects to the comms, and then another dull, echoing thud. More of the screens go dark.

“It’s using the life pod as a way into the ship,” she mutters. “You know these territories, what can it be?” She watches as the dot on the screen, their mysterious guest, zips from one end of the ship to the other. “Whoa, that thing can really move! It’s heading from the port side to the starboard.”

“The area around the starboard side’s offline, I can’t get a reading,” Astos says, beginning to sound worried.

“We’ll have to take a look.”

Astos doesn’t respond for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, he sighs, “Okay. You take port, I’ll check starboard.”

“Nonono, too dangerous,” she protests. If anyone’s going to die, it should be her. “You take port, I’ll take starboard.”

“You’re not in charge here,” he says. “This is my craft, you are my patient and my responsibility, as is everyone else here. You’re still recovering, you’re still in pain. I’ll check starboard, you check portside.”

She wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter who’s in charge or who’s the patient, that it’s her responsibility to keep everyone safe, that her pain doesn’t matter as long as she protects them. That she’s more likely to make it out alive than he is. Instead, she says, “Don’t like being told what to do."

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m getting that impression.”

Astos moves back to the console and grabs something out of a drawer.

“Take a comm dot,” he says, pressing it behind her ear. “Mabli already has one. Stay off her channel while we work out what this is. She doesn’t need to know about this yet, it’s only her second tour. Neither do any of the other patients. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she agrees.

As they walk out the door, he asks, as if he genuinely doesn’t know, “Why am I trusting you, Doctor?”

“You might be a bad liar, Astos,” she says, “but you’ve got excellent instincts.”

With that, she takes off down the hall toward the portside life pod, sonic in hand. Whatever happened, she’s going to fix it. She just hopes she can do it before anyone dies.


	29. Jettisoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally unrelated to this chapter, but I recently started watching Leverage, and holy cow, if yall need something to watch during quarantine, trust me and check out Leverage. It's free on IMDb with ads and it's basically a series of mini-heist movies and found family. It's great.

It isn’t hard for the Master to cobble together a teleport; the hard part is syncing it to the Doctor’s telepathic signal. Ever since their connection cut off, he hasn’t been able to find it - either she’s unconscious still, or too far away. After four days, his sonic picks it up again. It’s faint, barely a thread, but it’s enough for him to, with some difficulty, lock on to. After that, it’s just a matter of calibration, making sure he doesn’t over- or undershoot and end up in the middle of space. He only has one shot to get it right.

“See anything, Astos?” the Doctor asks, trying to keep her voice steady. Walking still hurts, but it’s better than running, and if she focuses on finding whatever’s in the ship, she can almost ignore the pain.

“Nothing so far,” he replies.

“Me neither.”

“The life pod’s just around the corner.”

“Me too.” She can just see the door. “Go carefully. Whatever this thing is, it can move very fast.”

“The power’s been shorted around the life pod.”

The section of hall around the door is dark, and one of the lights fizzles weakly, flickering on and off. The air grows cold, colder than it should be, as she approaches.

“Power’s gone out in this section,” she informs him as she creeps closer.

The keypad sparks violently and she steps back.

“You need to check that the pod’s still secure,” he says.

A quick scan with her sonic tells her what she already had guessed. “Systems all drained.”

“No sign of anything here so far,” Astos says. “How about you?”

Slowly, she leans toward the door, hand outstretched. Before she even presses it against the door, the cold grows unbearable, almost burning her skin. As she yanks her hand back with a hiss, she knows there’s only one explanation for such a thing.

“Astos, the portside life pod, it’s gone. Jettisoned.”

“Understood,” he replies, and then, “Doctor. It’s here. It’s inside this pod.”

Sometimes, she really hates when she’s right.

“Don’t engage with it,” she orders. “Stay where you are, we need you safe.” She hears him inhale, shaky. “Astos, what’s happening there?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Astos? Are you listening to me? Do not engage!” she repeats. There’s a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Nonono!” she hears him hiss, followed by indistinct, mechanical-sounding words she can’t make out.

“Astos, what’s happening?” she demands.

“Rookie mistake,” he replies. “It’s jettisoning the pod. The internal controls are broken. And I’m inside.”

She’s running down the hall before he finishes his sentence, calling, “Astos, hold on. I’m coming!”

As she sprints down the corridor, she passes Mabli and Ronan in the middle of something, something suspicious she makes a mental note to ask about, as soon as she rescues Astos. The whole ship rocks, hard enough to throw her against a wall. Somewhere in her mind, she knows it’s too late, but she still tries her comm dot.

“Astos? Astos!”

No reply. The Doctor stands, keeps running toward the pod, and doesn’t listen to the insistent little voice in her head reminding her she failed, again.

As she moves down the hall, she sees a hole where a panel used to be, wires dangling limp from it, like it was torn carelessly to pieces. There’s a snarling noise and a clattering of metal.

She turns the corner and sees… something. It’s small, maybe up to her knee, sort of greyish-brown, and thoroughly engaged in picking through the remnants of something mechanical. It turns, spotting her, then bares rows of sharp little teeth and growls.

“Where’s Astos?” Mabli asks, voice high with panic. “Oh my saints!”

“What is that?” Graham exclaims.

It roars, loud and echoing, like the scrape of metal on stone magnified dozens of times over. Everyone flinches back.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor admits. “But it’s incredibly dangerous. It jettisoned the life pods, and it killed Astos.”

Mabli’s eyes somehow go wider. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Mabli, but it’s down to us to get us safely back to Resus One now,” she says, then turns to the thing. “And you. Off this ship, back into space _right now_ , else you’ll have me to deal with.”

The thing looks at her, snarls, and then swallows an important-looking piece of metal nearly as big as it’s body in one gulp.

“It just sort of ignored you there, Doc,” Graham points out.

“Got that, thanks Graham,” she mutters.

“How’s it eating all that stuff?” Ryan asks.

“How did it get on the ship?” Grace wonders.

Yaz adds “What even is it?” to the pile of questions the Doctor doesn’t have answers to.

“I have no idea,” she says, inching closer to it, sonic outstretched. “It hit the ship from the depths of space, so it can survive a vacuum. Doesn’t need oxygen, and it can digest pretty much whatever it wants, by the looks of things.”

She crouches down to scan it, and it makes a strange, warbling noise at her. And then it lunges at her extended arm, yanking her sonic from her hand and swallowing it.

“Got some nerve,” Grace observes.

“It just ate my sonic!” the Doctor gasps.

The creature obligingly spits it back out. When the Doctor tries to turn it on, it just clicks uselessly, it’s power source depleted. She sighs in disappointment; she _liked_ that sonic.

She doesn’t have much time to mourn, though, because the creature has scampered down the hall and is smashing itself through a glass panel. There’s a shower of sparks, followed by the sound of clanging inside the walls of the ship. As light fixtures shatter, flinging glass across the hallway, the Doctor takes off past her humans and toward the nav chamber.

“The ship’s databanks,” Mabli says, opening the door to the room. “I- I shouldn’t let you in here, bu- but I am, and that’s fine.”

The Doctor touches her arm, reassuring. “I’ve already been in here with Astos.”

Mabli turns, her eyes filled with tears. “Is he really gone?”

“I’m sorry, Mabli,” the Doctor says.

“He- he was one of the only people who ever believed in me,” she says shakily. “Including me. He was so kind. There aren’t enough kind people…”

The reassuring words on the tip of the Doctor’s tongue are cut off by a whoosh of air, followed by a very familiar voice.

“Did you miss me?”

The Master, arms spread wide and grinning, is standing in the middle of the room. His hair is disheveled, there’s smudges of oil on his face, and he looks more manic than usual, but the Doctor doesn’t really care because he’s _back_ , he isn’t off destroying a planet, and the relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to knock her over. Or maybe that’s the pain in her ectospleen. Whichever.

She practically tackles him into a hug, throwing her arms around his shoulders and reveling in the way their telepathic connection reforms itself, not bothering to hide her emotions from him. The tangled knot of worry, fear, and guilt in her gut finally begins to unravel.

“ _I was worried about you_ ,” she admits. “ _Thought you might’ve…_ ”

She doesn’t finish the thought, but he knows what she means.

“ _You and your TARDIS both. She locked me out,_ ” he complains.

A small laugh escapes her. " _Y_ _ou have awful timing, you know. There's something loose on the ship, it just killed the other medical worker, and it ate my sonic._ "

"E- excuse me, you can't b- be in here!" Mabli says. "Or, you aren't supposed to be."

The Master shoots her a withering look and Mabli squeaks.

"Don't be mean," the Doctor scolds, finally pulling back from the hug. "She's just been traumatized.”

He rolls his eyes. “Darling, need I remind you that you are the one who comforts the apes, and I’m the one who gets things done?”

That reminds her - “Right, what was it you wanted to show us, Mabli?”

“W- well, if I sync my oc- ocular recorders with the databanks...” she says, moving to the console. “All Tsuranga medics are implanted with lenses so we can record all treatments for- for training purposes, lawsuits, data records.”

“Like a post version of my uniform camera,” Yaz nods.

“Wait,” says Grace. “You called this the control deck, but then where’s the crew?”

“No crew,” the Doctor explains. “All automated.”

“So it’s just us,” Graham says.

“Yeah.”

“Alone.”

“Yep.”

“In space.”

“Yeah.”

“With that creature.”

The Doctor scronches. “Yeah.”

“Right."

“Don’t fancy its chances,” Yaz says.

“We’ll be fine, love,” Grace nods.

“Yeah, I back us every time,” Ryan agrees.

“If you die, at least make it interesting. I just spent four days bored out of my mind,” the Master sighs. “Could use the entertainment.”

The Doctor smacks him in the arm, then says, “So, Mabli, what is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who wanted to see the Master get protective because the Doctor's injured - don't worry, it'll happen soon.


	30. P'ting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe this fic is already 30 chapters long, and over 50k now. Thank you guys so much for your support!

The computer system helpfully informs them that the creature, wherever it came from, is called a P'ting. It's toxic to touch, impossible to wound or kill, and while it won't eat them, it will eat the ship from around them. The information ends with "Risk to life: ultimate."

After a second of silence, the Doctor says, "On the plus side, I now feel very well-informed! Seven minutes, get everyone into the assessment area."

"Why seven minutes?" asks Mabli, a tremor in her voice.

"I need a moment to think," she says.

There's more clanging throughout the ship as Mabli nods and leaves, the humans in tow. As soon as they're out of sight, the Doctor sighs and leans against the wall, hand to her side.

The Master narrows his eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"Just a destabilized ectospleen," she replies. "There was a sonic mine, I was closest to the blast. I'm fine."

"No, you aren't! You could've died, what were you thinking?" he snaps, pulling out his sonic pen and scanning her. Glancing at the readout, he scowls. "You shouldn't even be up yet, love."

"I'm fine!" she repeats, straightening and moving away from him. "I barely even feel it."

"This body is a terrible liar," he says. "You're pale and out of breath, and if I had to bet I'd say you were knocked out these past three days. You. Are not. Fine."

She makes a face. "What do you care, anyhow? Look, I need to make a plan, you can either help me or keep acting like I'm dying."

"You can make a plan sitting down," he points out.

The Doctor rolls her eyes, but sits down, legs bent in front of her. Without saying anything, the Master sits, cross-legged, next to her. 

For a second, it’s almost like they’re kids again, back on Gallifrey, skipping class to sit on the rolling hills and watch the clouds pass by overhead. They’d wasted countless afternoons like that, much to their teachers’ annoyance. The Doctor hums and leans her head on the Master’s shoulder, lets her eyes drift shut, just for a little while.

They sit together in silence for a moment, then he asks, “Alright, what’s your plan? I’ve already got three.”

“Do they involve, in any capacity, killing any more humans?” the Doctor says, shooting him a glance.

The Master lacks the good graces to look sheepish. “Only as bait.”

“No. We need to figure out what the P’ting  _ wants _ , what it’s here for. Nothing breaks onto a ship for no reason,” she muses. “It killed Astos, ate my sonic… oh! Oh.  _ Oh. _ ”

“Oh?” the Master parrots, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, what?”

The Doctor grins. “I think I figured out what it wants. If you had to guess, what would you say is powering this ship right now?”

“This is the 66th, 67th century right now, big ship, no whining mechanical engines, so probably antimatter,” the Master says. “You don’t think -”

“Yep! When it spit my sonic out, it was dead, power all drained. So, that means in order to get back to Resus One safely, we need to keep that antimatter drive safe,” she says, eyes bright.

An alarm starts blaring, a new and different one from all the previous alarms. The lights and screens dim and take on a suitably threatening red glow. A second later, Mabli comes running back in, looking panicked.

“Oh, this is really, really bad!” she mutters. “This is really not good.”

“What are they?” the Doctor asks, standing. Or, rather, waiting until the Master stands and helps her up.

“Er, bad. This craft has over five thousand different scan sensors, they’re constantly feeding back to Resus One. They monitor everything, both internally and externally. Check the routing’s stable and there are no hostile forms, however microbial, on board,” Mabli explains, looking at the screen. “The systems’ve detected the P’ting. They’re asking us to confirm or deny anything’s wrong. We  _ can’t _ take a creature like that back to Resus One, there’s thousands of vulnerable patients.”

The Master steps past Mabli and taps something on the screen. The alarm stops and the lights return to full, not-red brightness.

“There, fine,” he says. “Told it there’s nothing wrong.”

Mabli’s eyes somehow go wider. “That’ll only work another two times, then… then they’ll go straight to RSD. Remote Structural Detonation.”

“And if we’d said yes, something was wrong?” asks the Doctor.

“Also RSD,” Mabli replies, quiet.

The Doctor throws her hands into the air and then winces slightly. “Who designed  _ that? _ ”

“People after my own hearts, it seems,” the Master says with a small grin. “You must admit, dear, it’s not a bad system. Bigger picture and all that.”

“I don’t have to admit anything. Now come on, I need to catch everyone up on the plan,” she says.

He looks momentarily shocked. “You actually have a plan now?”

“Eh, I will have by the time we get there,” she shrugs, and then grabs his hand and drags him out of the room. “Probably.”

By the time she walks - not stumbles, definitely no stumbling involved, she’s only gripping the Master’s hand for emotional support - through the doors to the assessment area, the Doctor has something that at least resembles a plan.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you all here,” she says, stepping into the room. “Sorry, bit Poirot. I need to bring you all up to speed, very directly, very succinctly. I can’t sugarcoat this.”

“Where’s the chief medic?” General Cicero asks. “And who’s he?”

“Astos is gone,” she replies, pacing. “Killed by an alien organism called a P’ting that’s come on board. Very fast moving, very deadly, and it’s eating its way through the structure of the ship.” She sees Cicero exchange a look with her android. “Also, and this is the bit you need to work on not panicking, it’s jettisoned the life pods."

The Giftan, she’s pretty sure his name was Yoss, groans.

“I’m the Doctor,” she says, in as reassuring a tone as she can muster. “These are my friends, Ryan, Graham, Grace, Yaz, and… him.”

The Master waves cheerfully. “I’m the Master. Don’t worry, you’re probably not going to die because of me.”

Cicero’s eyes widen and she takes a deep breath.

“Right! And you all know Mabli, our very capable medic!” the Doctor says quickly. “We will pool all out brilliance and get us safely to Resus One.”

She pauses, waiting for shouts, demands for answers, all the standard reactions to this kind of thing. Nothing comes.

“I thought there’d be more questions,” she admits.

“I’ve encountered a P’ting before,” Cicero says, stepping slightly closer. “It massacred my fleet.”

“Okay,” the Doctor nods. “What did you learn about them?”

Before Cicero can answer, the lights go dim and the screen on the wall lights up with warning orange and red.

“It must have got to the central systems,” Mabli says. The lights buzz back on as emergency power kicks in. “That means we’ll soon lose oxygen and heat.”

“This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it,” the Master sighs.

“Yes, okay, if it’s gotten that far, next it’ll be going for the antimatter drive - this ship does run on an antimatter drive, right?” the Doctor rambles. At Mabli’s nod, she continues. “Eve, anything you can think of that will stop it?”

Cicero is silent for a moment, thinking. “Stasers work for a little while, we could use those.”

“We have a few,” Mabli offers.

“Right, go get those,” the Doctor says. “We can’t get the ship to Resus One faster without breaking the auto-routing, which’ll cause the ship to self-destruct. We don’t want that. If there were manual controls, maybe I could send a false positive back and fool the system long enough to get back, but…”

“Show me,” Cicero says.

“General,” snaps Ronan, a warning in his tone.

“Shush, Ronan, I know,” she replies.

The Master shoots the Doctor a look - something else is going on there. Between this conversation and whatever she’d run past Mabli and Ronan doing in the hall, the Doctor is thoroughly suspicious.

“We could go past the drive chamber on the way,” she offers.

Cicero nods. “Durkas, with me. Please?”

“Um,” Yoss says suddenly, “is this a bad moment to mention my internal fluids have broken? I think the baby’s coming. Really sorry.”

“The birthbud’s set up in your patient pod,” Mabli smiles, handing the stasers to Ronan, “let’s get you back there.”

“But it won’t have any power!”

She helps him out of his chair. “It’s got a backup generator, no need to panic.”

“Okay. Oh, would you two be my doulas?” Yoss asks. Panicked looks spread across both Ryan and Graham’s faces. “I haven’t got any doulas.”

Graham glances to Grace for help.

“Birth partners,” she says, a hint of a teasing smile on her lips. “I’m sure you two will do just fine.”

“She’s brilliant,” Yoss explains, pointing to Mabli, “but I need some men with me.”

“Y- yeah,” Graham agrees, not sounding like he believes himself. “We’re blokes, ain’t we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan nods, looking blindsided. “All over it, yeah.”

Grace does an admirable job of not laughing when she pats them both reassuringly on the shoulders. They follow Mabli out into the hallway.

“Be cautious!” the Doctor calls after them. “It could be anywhere!”

As she crosses the room to pick up the emergency blanket she’d spotted under the chair, she catches a whispered conversation between the General and Ronan.

“I need another adrenaline blocker,” Cicero says, voice low.

“You used the last one, General,” replies Ronan.

That must’ve been what he was taking from Mabli in the corridor, the Doctor realizes. Now, why would General Cicero need adrenaline blockers, and so frequently that she’d depleted the ship’s stash?

“Everything okay?” the Doctor asks, just loud and neutral enough that they’d think she hadn’t been listening.

Cicero hesitates before she replies. “Yes.”

The Doctor shares another look with the Master before stepping out to the hall. “With me, please.”

“Where do you think it is right now?” Yaz asks as they creep down the corridor.

“We can’t exactly track it, since the ship is dead,” the Master points out. “Could be right above our heads for all we know.”

The Doctor glares at him. “But it probably isn’t.”

She spots Mabli in the doorway that leads into Yoss’ pod. As they approach, she asks, “Doctor, quick word? Private.”

“Catch you up,” the Doctor says to the others. “Go on. If the Master makes a suggestion, don’t listen to him unless you’re really desperate.”

“Your confidence in me is so reassuring, dear,” he mutters, but takes the hint and stays with the group.

Mabli waits until they’ve passed to speak.

“Eve Cicero, her condition,” she begins, half-whispering.

“What about it?”

“Patient confidentiality, I can’t discuss with you,” Mabli says. “But… if you’re a doctor, maybe you should examine her.”

The doors swish open and Mabli straightens. “I’ve got to go.”

“ _ We were right, _ ” she thinks to the Master. “ _ There’s something wrong with General Cicero. _ ”

As if this day couldn’t get any worse.


	31. Heart to Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap, I got Animal Crossing: New Horizons recently and some combination of that and The Magnus Archives stole all my writing motivation. Don't worry, I plan to post another chapter tomorrow to make up for it!

The Doctor’s quick jog through the hall leaves her out of breath by the time she reaches the drive chamber. Her ectospleen is still twinging, and she doesn’t bother to hide the pain; the Master already noticed. He raises an eyebrow as she enters, and she can just  _ tell _ there’s going to be a monologue about not running with destabilized organs waiting for her once they’re no longer in peril.

“Sorry, where are we?” she gasps. “Oh, right, antimatter drive. See this, Yaz, Grace? Antimatter drive, and a pretty good one!”

It’s beautiful - situated in the center of the room, coils of golden light twining around a central support. The gentle hum of energy in motion provides a nice background noise, certainly better than the blaring of alarms. She can just barely taste the shift in energy, the bursts of power as the generator does its job. As she leans closer to get a better look at the coils, she can feel a gentle warmth, even through the insulating glass. If she didn’t think the TARDIS would get jealous, she’d try to take it home.

“Oh! I did a bit on antimatter at school,” Yaz says. “Never quite understood it.”

“It’s not  _ hard _ ,” the Master sighs, condescending. “Just a particle accelerator. It takes the atoms, forces them together until they produce positrons, and uses the positrons to react with the fuel and produce heat. Honestly.”

“Like a smaller version of CERN?” Grace asks.

“Exactly!” the Doctor says with a smile. “Now, it’s vital that you lot keep this safe. If the drive gets destroyed, this ship will lose propulsion. We’ll drift endlessly while the P’ting-”

“I get it,” Yaz nods. “It won’t be good.”

“Ever been exposed to deep space?” the Master asks. “Believe me, no fun. Your blood stops moving right and your organs do all kinds of fun things in zero gravity. That’s if the cold doesn’t kill you first, though. Very entertaining to watch, very painful to experience.”

“Yes, thank you, I think they’ve got the idea,” the Doctor snaps.

“Right,” Grace nods. “Can’t let that thing get in here. Got it.”

“Ronan can stay with you,” General Cicero offers.

Ronan shakes his head. “No. General, my responsibility is to-”

“Ronan, you’re able to touch it without it toxifying you,” Cicero points out. “That’s useful to all of us, including me.”

“Of course, General,” Ronan says. Though he’s an android and technically shouldn’t be able to be sarcastic, the Doctor has a feeling that’s not stopping him now.

“You might need this,” the Doctor says, handing the blanket she’d grabbed from the assessment room to Grace. “Medblanket. Sterilized barrier, 67th century technology. In case you need to pick anything up.”

With that, she heads back into the hallway, the Master trailing behind her.

“Thought you would’ve stayed with them,” she says as they walk back to the nav chamber. “Free pass to shoot at something and all.”

“Doctor, if I had stayed, you would be running down this hallway right now instead of walking,” he argues. “I don’t know how you manage to underestimate the kind of damage an improperly healed destabilized organ can do, but believe me, I’ve seen the results. They’re not pretty. And I’d hate for you to waste a regeneration on a petty injury that I didn’t even get to inflict.”

“Oh, of course,” she says. “Not because you’re worried about me or anything.”

“Of course not,” he agrees.

She smiles at him, just for a moment, and though he doesn’t fully return the favor, his lips quirk upward a hint.

As soon as they enter the nav chamber, the onboard threat alarm starts up again. The Doctor walks - she very carefully avoids running - to the screen and deflects the warning again.

“P’ting presence denied,” she announces. “Strike two, one left. Now, you two,” she says, looking at Cicero and Durkas and gesturing them toward the routing screen, “see? A more direct route. Obviously, fast-moving asteroids and debris to avoid on the way, which is presumably why the systems wanted to avoid it. Now, if I can rig up a cover signal back to Resus One…”

“There is no way you’re serious,” the Master says.

Cicero nods in agreement. “Doctor, I’m a neuropilot. My expertise is in symbiotic neuropiloting - pulse systems, at a push, but not this.”

“I can make a rig out of this chamber,” Durkas offers.

“No you can’t!” Cicero snaps.

Durkas scoffs. “You wouldn’t be able to make your way through those asteroids even if I did.”

“Yeah?” Cicero challenges. “Says you.”

Durkas sighs. “How long’ve I got?”

“Literally, no time at all,” the Doctor replies. “But I’m sure the Master will be happy to help, isn’t that right?”

The Master glares at her, then sighs. “If it gets us off this ship, fine.”

“Give me some space to work,” Durkas says.

The Doctor takes Cicero by the shoulder and gently steers her out of the room. “Siblings, bless.”

Once they’re in the hallway alone, the doors to the nav chamber whooshing shut behind them, the Doctor does what the Doctor does best - pry.

“Why’re you on this ship, General?” she asks.

“Cordon fever, contracted on my last duty,” Eve replies. “Can’t quite shake it.”

The Doctor pulls out her stethoscope and presses it to Eve’s chest. Just as she expected, her heart is beating far slower than it should be. Almost dangerously slow, even. Artificially, adrenaline blocker induced slow.

“What are you doing?” Eve demands. “And while we’re asking invasive questions, what are you doing with  _ him? _ I’ve heard the stories. The two of you fighting across space and time, all that. So why’re you so… domestic?”

“In reverse order, none of your business, and listening to your heart,” the Doctor snaps. The General may be a hero, but that doesn’t give her a right to know why she’s traveling with the Master. “Now, why would you be using adrenaline blockers for Cordon fever?”

If the Doctor were still listening, she’d be willing to bet Eve’s pulse sped up then. “How’d you know about the blockers?”

“Your slow pulse, my really good hearing. You asked Ronan for some,” she replies. “It isn’t Cordon fever, is it? Is it pilot’s heart?”

A dangerous condition, that one. Caused by the elevated levels of adrenaline many neuropilots were consistently exposed to over long periods of time, it slowly caused the adrenal glands to malfunction, sending bursts of adrenaline to the heart at random moments, especially tense situations. While it wasn’t necessarily deadly, it was a career-ender. Anyone with pilot’s heart couldn’t risk continuing the dangerous life of a neuropilot; most of those with the condition ended up on one of many retirement planets, in one of the special communities dedicated to those with it. Everything kept controlled and risk-free, to minimize the chance of adrenal shock. In emergencies, adrenaline blockers were a common treatment. It wasn’t hard to put together, really.

She watches Eve take several heavy, shuddering breaths, and feels just a little bit bad for being so forceful. Not enough to stop, but enough to apologize, at least. “I’m sorry, Eve, but if we’re going to survive this, you need to be honest with me.”

“I started as a pulse pilot,” Eve says, voice shaking. “I graduated to neurofleet commander faster than anyone in Keeber history. I’m the most decorated general. I’m the poster woman.” Another unsteady inhale. “I cannot have pilot’s heart. I cannot be that example to others.”

“But you have,” the Doctor says, pressing. “And you’ve been using more and more blocker shots to get through the day.”

Eve nods. “Trying to control the surges of adrenaline around the heart. One big surge could kill me.”

“Does Durkas know?” she asks. She has a sneaking suspicion he doesn’t; he wouldn’t even consider letting Eve pilot the ship if he did.

Eve confirms her suspicions.“I don’t want him worrying.”

“He’s gonna find out sooner or later,” the Doctor points out.

“He already has,” says Durkas, rounding the corner of the hallway. “Not that he’s surprised. Just… disappointed.”

Eve turns to face him. “Durkas.”

“We don’t have time now,” he says, cutting her off. “We rigged up a piloting bypass, combining pulse and neuro-”

“I’ll do it,” the Doctor interrupts, stepping past Eve.

“Ever flown that way?” Eve asks, incredulous.

“No,” she admits. “But you could talk me through it!”

It wasn’t like she hadn’t flown telepathically before, though she tried to avoid it since it made the TARDIS moody. The human technology likely wasn’t well suited to her brain patterns on a good day, however, and so far the day had been decidedly not good, so she didn’t exactly have high hopes. But still, it was better than nothing.

“It takes people a dozen years to train,” Eve argues.

She groans. “Really need to spend more time in the 67th century.”

“I know how to do this. I’m not stopping now,” says Eve. “Everyone’s going to live. Including me!”

And oh, the Doctor wishes she could trust that confidence. But the feeling in the back of her head, the glimpse of timelines just a little to the left, the way the day had been going so far all made it hard for her to believe the general.

She shakes her head. It doesn’t matter whether she believes Eve or not; if it had been her saying that, she would’ve gone off and done it, and probably saved a universe while she was at it, no matter how doubtful her companions were. No reason to think that General Cicero couldn’t do the same.

Besides, if something went wrong, the Doctor would be right there. It was going to be fine.


	32. Detonation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's today's Sorry I Got Absorbed Into Animal Crossing chapter!  
> Edit: This fic just hit 420 kudos and I would like to thank every single one of you who helped with that

It was not fine. Yes, the rig that Durkas and the Master had built worked - and worked well - despite the time crunch. Yes, General Cicero had not yet dropped dead of a heart attack. However, that was about where the positives ended.

The Doctor had already had to deny the presence of the P’ting on the ship for the third time, meaning that once it happened again, they were going to get blown up. She had no idea how to stop the explosion, or how to remove the P’ting. And, like icing on a cake of misery, a new alarm started going off.

“Nothing to worry about!” she says, lying. “We’ll deal with the P’ting!”

As she runs out the door, she ignores Durkas’ shout of, “Well how’re you gonna do that?” because, to be honest, she doesn’t know yet.

The Master’s sudden grip on her wrist stops her in her tracks. She whirls around to glare at him.

“Let go, I need to get to the antimatter drive!” she snaps.

“Then you can do it at a reasonable pace,” he replies, meeting her gaze. “Or you can not do it at all. Your choice, dear.”

She glares a bit more before giving in. “Fine. No running, but is a brisk walk acceptable?”

A sarcastic smile spreads across his lips. “Of course. I’m not a barbarian.”

Rolling her eyes and shifting her hand so her fingers interlace with his, the Doctor continues down the hall at a quick walk. Though she’ll never admit it, it hurts less than running. Gave her more time to plan, too.

“Now, if I were to blow up a medical ship, how would I do it?” she muses.

The Master, who had probably spent disturbing amounts of time contemplating this exact question, was ready with an answer. “Missiles are a classic, but wouldn’t work well if you had to do it for every single ship in a fleet. Too much effort and calibration, not to mention the resource drain, even if you could accurately home in on the ship every time - which, note, you can’t. Found that out the hard way. Could use a compressed black hole or frozen dying star, but again, that’s just impractical for more than one. Bombs would work, but you’d have to make it standard for every ship, so…”

“The antimatter drive!” the Doctor grins. “They’d put it in the antimatter drive.”

“Oh, that’s clever, that’s very clever,” he agrees. “Necessary for every ship, and even if the bomb weren’t tied to the drive itself, the explosion would be powerful enough to break the casing and let all that energy loose. Very, very clever.”

“And very, very deadly,” she adds. “It’ll be hard to defuse that. Almost certainly tamper-proof, they’d be idiots not to.”

“Maybe,” the Master says, slowly, as if waiting for her to take a hint, “we don’t need to defuse it.”

The Doctor turns to look at him in bafflement. “What do you - wait.” A triumphant smile lights up her face. “You are brilliant! Two birds with one stone - well, an exploding ship and a P’ting with a bomb, but you know what I mean!”

“Yes, dear, I know I possess a stunning intellect,” he says fondly.

She presses a kiss to his cheek and then, at a very fast walk, takes off down the hall. “Come on, we need to get to the bomb!”

If she’d been looking behind her, the Doctor would have seen the smile on the Master’s face as he watched her. It was a genuine one - not the sarcastic smirk he wore when he was taunting someone, not the smug grin he saved for when he thought he’d won - but a gentle smile.

The ship tilts abruptly to the side, likely the result of General Cicero’s steering, and the Doctor yelps in pain as she’s thrown against a wall, and he shakes his head and moves to support her. He slips her arm across his shoulders and wraps one arm around her waist, touch light enough to go almost unnoticed. And if the Doctor leans into it a bit, though if asked she’d swear up and down she didn’t need the help, well… neither of them will ever tell.

The first thing the Doctor sees when she opens the door to the drive chamber is Grace, Yaz, and Ronan, all pointing stasers at her and the Master.

“It’s us! Not the P’ting!” she shouts quickly.

Slowly, the stasers are lowered.

“It got in here,” Grace says.

“But we got rid of it!” Yaz says triumphantly, then adds, “But it’ll be back.”

“What is the situation elsewhere?” Ronan asks.

“Eve’s piloting the ship, Durkas is maintaining controls and signals, you’re guarding the particle accelerator,” the Doctor lists off. The ship shudders, the lights go red, and she’s almost knocked to the ground before the Master grabs her and keeps her upright. “Mabli, Graham, and Ryan are presumably delivering Yoss’ baby, and… the bomb’s going to detonate. We’re just going to move it away from this room. Mind helping?”

“ _ Yes! _ ” Yaz squeaks, at the same time that Grace’s eyes light up and she asks, “How can I help?”

“Ten points to Grace O’Brien for helping!” the Doctor says with a smile as she grabs the Master’s sonic from his pocket and begins scanning the antimatter drive. “And yes, I am keeping score for all of you. Yaz, Ronan, up your game.”

Ronan gives her a blank look. “There is a bomb in this room?”

She nods. “If I’m right, it should be right in here. Grace, if you could stand over there and press that button?”

Grace does exactly that, and the lights in the room go back to normal.

“Thank you! Much easier to see now. So.” The Doctor leans forward and gently presses a hidden panel in the base of the particle accelerator, causing a compartment to slide out. Inside is a small half-disc, bright blue lights flashing inside its rim, beeping urgently.

“You’re interfering with a bomb,” Ronan notes.

“Yes,” she agrees.

“Is it going to detonate?”

“I certainly hope it does,” the Master says. “Otherwise the plan won’t work.”

“What is the plan?” asks Ronan.

“Speed it up,” the Doctor answers. “To save our lives.”

“Are you also experiencing comprehension deficiency?”

“Oh, every day right now, mate,” Yaz says fervently.

The Doctor hands the Master back his sonic, and then gently lifts the bomb from the drawer.

“Need to be so careful,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “Tiny little device could blow us all to pieces. And I’m going to set it off.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” the Master sighs.

As she straightens up, ever so slowly, she says, “You lot, keep guard. I’ll be right back. No need to worry.”

The doubtful looks Grace and Yaz give her as she walks, steps small and steady despite the rocking of the ship, tell her she wasn’t particularly convincing. She tries a reassuring smile. It doesn’t seem to work. She doesn’t blame it, she hardly feels capable of reassurance right now.

The airlock isn’t far from the drive chamber, but it’s far enough that the slow pace the Doctor’s keeping makes it feel like an eternity before she reaches it. The door is shut, which is unsurprising, but inconvenient.

She turns to the Master. “Can you sonic it open? Oh, and pick a number between one and one hundred.”

Rolling his eyes, he pulls the sonic from his jacket and opens the door. “78 and two thirds.”

“A  _ whole _ number,” the Doctor sighs. Carefully, she places the bomb on the floor of the airlock, then steps back.

“Fine. 51.”

“Mm. Good number, pentagonal,” she nods, grabbing the sonic from his hand and doing something to the bomb

Red lights turn on around the rim of the curve and the beeping takes on a less frantic, more deliberate tone. The lights blink off one by one. The Doctor grabs the Master’s hand and drags him into an alcove in the wall, positioned so that they can watch the corridor.

“You know, dear, you have your own sonic you can use,” the Master points out as they wait.

“It got eaten by the P’ting, I told you. Though it did spit it back out later. Still, it drained the power source, so I can’t exactly use it right now until I can charge it,” she replies.

“I made mine self-rebooting,” he says, just a hint of smugness in his voice.

The Doctor’s face scronches as she tries to remember whether she had done the same. Regeneration sickness makes it hard to recall exactly what she’d been doing those first few days after she fell into a train. She pulls out her own sonic from her pocket and presses a button. Much to her surprise, it lights up a gentle yellow and buzzes.

“Huh. Guess I did too,” she says.

“So you could have used yours instead of taking mine?” he asks, teasing.

She shrugs. “Suppose so. Taking yours was easier.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “You never do things the easy way, love.”

After making a face at him, she leans into the hall. No sight of the P’ting, and if her count is correct - which it is - then roughly half their time has elapsed already.

“Where is it?” she mutters. “You should have picked a higher number.”

“I did, originally. You didn’t like it,” he argues.

“You picked a fraction just to annoy me and you know it,” she replies, stepping further into the hall.

Finally, she hears a faint patter of footsteps on the floor. The P’ting waddles down the hall, a small chunk of metal that might have been a converter grasped in its hands. The Doctor ducks back into the alcove and waits. After a moment, the P’ting is in front of them. It turns, spots them, and hisses.

“When you’re ready, mate,” she whispers.

Then it sees the bomb. The P’ting drops the piece of machinery to the floor with a clatter and crouches lower to the ground, almost on all fours. Its head tilts, curious, sensing the energy building inside the bomb. There’s a long moment where it just waits there, stubby antennae twitching.

“Really?” the Doctor groans under her breath. “Get a shift on!”

Almost as though it understood her, the P’ting scampers into the airlock to investigate the bomb. It grabs it in its hands, makes a squelchy sort of chattering noise, and then swallows the bomb whole.

The Doctor grins, and looks over to see the Master doing the same. Quickly, she moves to sonic the airlock shut again. The P’ting turns and snarls as the door closes, but not a second later the bomb detonates. A faint red glow lights up its stomach and its eyes go wide.

“Absorbed every bit of energy,” the Doctor says wonderingly.

Beside her, the Master pulls down the lever to eject the airlock. The P’ting, still devouring the feast of energy, gets left behind as the ship continues onward.

“First problem, gone,” the Doctor says, pushing the lever back up and re-closing the airlock.

Now, she thinks, she just needs to get everyone back to Resus One alive. As the ship gives another jolt, she realizes that’s easier said than done.


	33. Resus One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the Tsuranga Conundrum arc! Short but sweet this time

When the Doctor and the Master reach the navigation chamber, General Cicero is lying on the ground. Durkas is strapped into the piloting rig, now, hands held carefully in front of him as he steers. Alarms blare and the lights flash red around the room.

“Go get Grace!” the Doctor orders, dropping to her knees to press the stethoscope against Cicero’s chest. She can still hear a faint heartbeat.

The Master gives her a look, but takes off into the hall.

“What happened?” the Doctor asks.

“Her heart couldn’t take it. She gave me control,” Durkas says, voice trembling slightly. “Is she…”

“I can still hear her heartbeat. She might have a chance,” she answers. “Do you know how to do this?”

“I”m a Cicero,” he says, and even through the terror there’s a hint of pride. “I studied for this.”

After a moment, he says, more into the headset than to the Doctor, “We’re coming into Resus One. Resus One, request emergency assistance landing.”

There’s a pounding of footsteps in the corridor, and then Grace is running into the room, the Master just behind her. Grace kneels down next to the Doctor, takes the stethoscope from her hands, and listens for a second before beginning chest compressions. For a long moment, it almost doesn’t seem like it’s going to work, and then Eve gasps and the Doctor breathes a sigh of relief. Eve had been right - everyone  _ was _ going to live.

Durkas manages to land the ship. It’s bumpy and jarring and unpleasant, but at long last, they’re properly safe. Everyone moves into pod two, where Yoss and his newborn are still in care, to wait until they’re cleared to leave the ship. General Cicero is laid out on one of the chairs, unconscious but alive.

“They, um, they say quarantine scanning and craft detox should take no more than three hours,” Mabli informs the Doctor. “Then, they’ll admit us to the facility. They’re booking your teleport to Cephalin, as soon as you’ve spoken to the investigators.”

“Thank you, Mabli,” the Doctor says. “I’ll be sure to tell them how brilliant you were.”

Mabli smiles. “You all were. Light in dark times.”

“People prevail.  _ Hope _ prevails,” she says, and she means it. Against all odds, they’d made it out of this alive. They’d prevailed.

In the background, she can hear her humans chatting with Yoss, something about the name of his baby. Apparently, he’s decided to try parenting after all, and if the look on Ryan’s face - a mix of joy and awkward almost-nervousness - is any indication, he probably had something to do with it.

She gets the strange, doubled vision of seeing two timelines at once again, and quietly moves to lean against a wall as her head spins. The room around her is two-fold, the images overlapping like a 3-D picture seen without glasses. Simultaneously, she sees what she knows to be real, and a version of the room that is emptier. No Grace, standing in between Graham and Ryan and laughing at something Yoss has just said. No Eve Cicero on the chair, instead a body laying on the floor, obscured underneath a blanket. No Master, moving to stand next to her with a look of what might be worry on his face.

“‘M fine,” she says, before he can even ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, I am now completely convinced."

“Seriously,” she insists. “It’s not my ectospleen. It’s just the timelines again.”

“Like before, with the spider?” he asks.

“Yes,” she sighs. “You still can’t see it, can you?”

“You could show me,” he suggests.

He’s right. She doesn’t know how the idea hadn’t occurred to her before. Carefully, she takes his hand in hers to make the transfer a little easier, and then presses the tangled mess of timelines she’s seeing into his head. His eyes close.

“That’s… weird,” he mutters.

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, I know. This is worse than usual, normally it’s only a glimpse.”

The Master hums, then raises a finger into the air, tracing the lines only they can see, looking for the divergence point. He’s always been better at this than she was, untangling the threads effortlessly and managing paradoxes with ease. After a second, his face scrunches slightly and he hums again.

“There’s an absolute  _ mess _ right around when we regenerated,” he says, faintly annoyed. “Someone was messing around with the timelines there, came very close to creating a very messy paradox. You and me, obviously, several times over in my case, and then someone else I can’t make out. Whatever they did, it was important enough to split the timelines, but since it doesn’t seem to be a properly fixed point, it’s been causing all sorts of weird temporal ripples. And for whatever reason, you’ve been catching the worst of it.”

That had been roughly what the Doctor had expected, in all honesty. She’d even tried looking at the timelines by herself, once, while they’d been stuck on Earth, but the clutter of the Master’s multiple selves had been disorienting enough to cloak whatever else had been going on. But, then, it’s always easier to look past your own interference in the timelines. Still, having his confirmation was nice.

He nods, and she realizes that she’d sent that across their telepathic link without meaning to. It was so much harder to keep things separated when they were touching, and she’d never been the best telepath to begin with.

“Wonder who it is?” she asks, more rhetorical than anything.

The Master answers it anyways. “Someone with an agenda. Though why they’d want to keep us together is beyond me.”

The Doctor can’t help but grin at that. “Well, between the two of us I’m sure we’ll figure it out. We’re both quite clever, and we’ve always done better together.”

He presses a hand to his chest in fake shock. “That only took you, what, two millennia to admit? At this rate you’ll be admitting we’re friends in a couple centuries!”

_ “I’ve always said you were my friend,” _ she thinks, the words too important to speak aloud amongst the chatter of the others.

_ “I know.” _

For just a second, before he catches it, she feels a burst of something soft and aching in his mind. She tries not to dwell on it - whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t meant for her to feel, and she doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Gently, he runs his thumb over hers. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek, and he smiles.  


The meeting with the investigators drags on for entirely too long. They want to know every detail about Astos’ death, about the P’ting and how she got rid of it. The Doctor gives them as little information as possible, because she’s pretty sure the stunt she pulled with the bomb was technically illegal, and while it wouldn’t be hard to get out of jail, she wants - needs - to get back to her TARDIS as soon as possible. The exhaustion clinging to her bones is beginning to affect her, and the sterile, shiny, overly medical surroundings are not helping.

The Master had persuaded the investigators that he be allowed to stay with her, and she didn’t care enough to ask him whether he’d cheated. He was her only source of calm right now, his hand comforting in hers as she rambled. The man listening, who was looking more annoyed by the second, had made the mistake of asking her what she knew about antimatter drives, and she’d then slowly shifted to a tangent about the wonders of intergalactic beekeeping. There were many.

Finally, the man sighs and says, “You know what? I think that’s all I need from you, miss. Your teleport is ready whenever you are.”

He stands and exits the room, leaving the door open behind him.

Hand still in hers, the Master says, “That was very impressive, love. You managed to talk for almost an hour and not tell him a single useful thing about what happened, aside from how well that young medical assistant handled the crisis.”

“I wasn’t  _ trying _ to,” the Doctor protests. “Beekeeping is very interesting, and once you start adding in celestial crossbreeds, it gets so much more complicated!”

He knows her too well to fall for the not-quite-lie, not-quite-diversion. “You  _ were _ trying to avoid saying anything about what precisely you did with the bomb.”

Knowing she’s been caught, she shrugs. “None of his business anyway. Now come on, let’s go.”

The Master laughs and follows her as she heads to the teleport room to collect her humans. They’d finished their brief interviews long before the Doctor, and were all seated, chatting with each other.

“Who’s ready to go home?” the Doctor asks, and the looks of relief on their faces mirror how she feels inside.

The teleport is efficient and accurate, landing them a mere ten feet from the TARDIS. With a sigh of relief, the Doctor runs to her ship and presses one hand to the wood. She slides the key off from around her neck and opens the door and breathes in the smell of time. When she steps inside, the last bit of tension that had been taking up residence between her shoulders leaves, and she knows in her hearts that she’s finally  _ home _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you still hungry for more of the Master being tender and forcing the Doctor to relax - don't worry! That's pretty much all of the next interlude!


	34. TLC - Time Lord Containment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like, 90% fluff, I'm gonna warn you now. I blame the fact that everyone else I know is writing angst, and therefore I feel the need to balance it out with some snuggling and board games.

They drop the humans off in Sheffield, within an hour of when they left, which the Doctor is very proud of. She promises she’ll be back to pick them up in a week or so, same spot as ever. As Grace closes the TARDIS doors behind her, the Master stands.

“Now, Doctor, there are two ways we can do this,” he begins. She glances up from the console to look at him. “Either you can agree to spend a day or two relaxing and recovering from the sonic mine damage, or I can force you to spend three days recovering.”

The Doctor sighs; she should have seen this coming. “I told you before, I’m  _ fine. _ "

“Dear, this body is a terrible liar,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “And you know as well as I do if I were to scan you right now, the results would not be pretty.”

He’s right, and they both know it. Sonic mines are nasty at a distance, and she’d caught the brunt of it, and then spent a day running around and generally disrupting the healing process. Even piloting the TARDIS had left her a bit winded, and the twinge in her side hasn’t left since she woke up on the Tsuranga ship. Part of her knows she should be resting, letting her body recover, but she’s still jittery from the adrenaline and the anxiety and sitting still feels unbearable right now. 

“You can’t lock me up in here anyways,” she mutters, feeling a little petulant but not caring. “The TARDIS won’t let you.”

The lights shift from golden yellow to a pale orange - the TARDIS’ way of saying that in this case, she might very well help him. Finally, the Doctor gives up. She knows that she’d stand a chance against either the Master or the TARDIS, but not both of them working together.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll rest.”

The Master smiles, and the lights go back to yellow. The Doctor taps her fingers absentmindedly against the console, nervous energy still buzzing in her veins.

“What exactly do you have planned?” she asks after a moment.

She  _ really _ hopes it isn’t anything too boring. Right now, the thought of sitting still and doing nothing feels almost as painful as the ache in her side. She needs to do something, anything, to burn the twitchy, wrung-out sort of energy she still has.

“Why don’t we play a little game, dear,” he suggests with a smile. “A battle of the wits. Lower stakes than usual, but I imagine we can still find a way to keep it interesting.”

Seven hours later, they’re both seated on the couches in the game room, seven different board games open and their pieces scattered seemingly randomly. Georg lurks in a corner, watching the mess below with great interest. There’s a whiteboard on one wall with a scoreboard, or perhaps a physics equation, scribbled on it in blue marker. It’s impossible to tell who is winning, if anyone. That conundrum is also the topic of their current debate.

“Look, I won Monopoly, so that means I get to move in Life, and even though I’m losing there I’m still doing better at Scattergories. Therefore, I’m winning,” the Doctor says, seated upside down on her couch, hair brushing the floor.

“But I beat you in Ticket to Ride,” the Master points out, sprawled across his couch like a fainted Victorian lady. “So I get to go in Sorry, which is worth more and will put me in the lead.”

“No it won’t! I’ve got three pawns in my space and you only have one. There’s no way you can get ahead,” she argues, pointing to the offending game.

It had started out as a simple way to keep the board games interesting - they would layer the games, each move in one requiring a win in another. All that had really done was lead to attempted cheating on both sides and shouting, but it was better than chess and they were both too proud to admit how absurd the situation was, so they kept at it.

When it ended, after another two hours and three shouting matches over what really constituted ‘cheating’, neither of them had won. Despite this, they were both happy; the Doctor’s extra energy was gone, and the Master was just glad she wasn’t running around more. The arguments slowly morphed into lying on the couches, chatting idly about anything they could think of.

“D’you ever miss it?” the Doctor asks, seated sideways on the couch, legs dangling off the side. “Gallifrey, I mean.”

The Master is quiet, for a moment, pondering. “Not the Gallifrey we have now.”

She hums, and there’s a moment of silence, filled by their breathing and the faint murmur of the TARDIS.

“I miss the Gallifrey we had as kids,” he elaborates. “But. It isn’t the same, now.”

“Nostalgia,” she says, understanding. “And all of that’s gone, now. Either to the war or… other reasons.”

The red fields they’d run through, collapsed laughing in, had burnt during the war. All their friends, dead or renegades or worse, part of the system that had been so cruel to them. It was hard to miss what Gallifrey had become. Or, rather, the Doctor supposes, what it’s always been, and they were too young to see.

“You mean your little stunt with yourself? Or what Rassilon did to you and your confession dial?” he says. “I killed him for that, you know. Several times. Hunted him down and watched him regenerate and then killed him again. Serves him right.”

It’s almost tender, the way he says that, soft and meant just for them. She almost doesn’t care about what he’s actually saying, the horrors he’s admitting to because he  _ knows _ she understands. Almost. She won’t say she wasn’t tempted, back when she had just escaped and was still full of rage, but...

“It wasn’t your right to do that,” she says, because she knows she should. “When did you manage that? I only talked about it when you were in the Vault, and you couldn’t have left.”

He laughs. “It’s cute how you still believe that, love.”

That makes her raise her head. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, never for long or very often. Once for Miss Grant’s birthday, once because you hadn’t been to see me for almost a month and I got bored, and once for Rassilon.”

“I can’t believe you,” she mutters, caught between exasperation and fondness. “The whole point was to keep you there so you couldn’t wreak havoc.”   


“It was only a little havoc, dear. And you never noticed,” he protests. “I was almost insulted, you know.”

She laughs at that, at the absurdity of the situation. Here she is, sitting on a couch talking with the person who’s ruined her life dozens of times over, the person she still knows she would do almost anything for, discussing his imprisonment at her own hand as if this were normal. On some level, she’s annoyed at him for breaking out, breaking their promise, but hadn’t she done the same? Going off with Bill, though she wouldn’t trade it for the world, was almost definitely a breach of contract - as Nardole had reminded her many times.

“Does this count as part of your sentence?” she wonders aloud. “I am technically keeping an eye on you, and you’re staying with me, and we’re working on the murder.”

“Does it matter?” he asks in response. “Those executioners don’t really have any authority over us.”

“I  _ know  _ that,” she sighs. “I’m just curious.”

“Technically, you were supposed to guard my body for a thousand years,” he says. “But does it still count if I regenerated? Not the same body.”

“We could ask them,” the Doctor says, not meaning it in the slightest.

The Master laughs again, quietly, more of a soft exhale than anything. After a moment, he says, “Since we clearly aren’t going to be doing anything other than talking, dear, why don’t we move somewhere more comfortable? These couches were really not designed for extended usage.”

She considers protesting, as she’d just gotten herself into the perfect position - one leg up against the back of the couch, one across the armrest, and her left arm draping off the side - but tiredness has been slowly creeping up on her since she’d gotten back to the TARDIS, and she always gets stiff when she sleeps on the couch. So, with a sigh of feigned annoyance, she rearranges herself so she can sit up.

“If you’re serious, we’ll have to use your room,” she says. “I don’t know if I have one yet. Haven’t bothered to check.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “Where have you been sleeping, then?”

“Oh, you know. Wherever.” By that, she means that generally, she falls asleep midway through an unnecessary repair to the TARDIS, waking up a few hours later on the floor with a sore back and a mental note to not do that again. Rinse and repeat roughly every three days or so, with the occasional seven hour nap on a couch interspersed throughout.

From the look on his face, the Master knows precisely what she wasn’t saying. Mercifully, he doesn’t say anything, just stands, walks to her, and takes her hand to help her up. Strictly speaking, she doesn’t need the help, but he had insisted that she try not to strain herself, and she doesn’t mind the contact with him.

She hasn’t seen his room before; he’d never invited her, and she didn’t want to pry more than the necessary checks to make sure he wasn’t building a superweapon on board. It’s small and cluttered, a variety of mugs that she’s fairly certain are mostly hers - scratch that, all of them are hers, and she’d been wondering where the ‘World’s Best Grandad’ mug Bill bought her had gone - scattered across various flat surfaces alongside papers, writing utensils, and miscellaneous mechanical parts. 

“This is… cozy,” she says, looking at the chaotic scatter of stuff.

“This body’s a bit of a hoarder,” he sighs. “I blame you for that.”

The Doctor’s too tired to protest that that makes no sense, and instead she moves past him to the bed. It’s simple, nothing fancy, but the blankets are soft and it’s becoming a struggle to stay awake, so she curls herself up on the bed and is asleep in minutes.

When the Doctor wakes up, nearly eight hours later by her count, one of the Master’s arms is around her waist. She’s very tempted to fall back asleep, comfy as she is beneath the blankets and his touch, but there was something important she knew she needed to remember. Something important enough she had woken up for it.

When she remembers, she quickly shakes the Master awake. For a second, she’s caught up in how soft he looks, hair mussed and eyes still hazy from sleep, but there’s something more urgent than that.

“Master,” she says. “Before we left the game room, did we put Georg back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made it fic canon that Missy murdered Rassilon several times, because he deserved it. No, I won't apologize.


	35. Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another original adventure, this time on Earth! I hope you all enjoy!

Georg is found, eventually, in the room housing the TARDIS’ electronics management center. The Doctor’s still not entirely sure how he got there - the door was closed, and the only other way in was through one of the auxiliary pools, across the rainforest, and then down one specific slide and through an air duct. She decides that it doesn’t really matter in the end; they’d found him and put him back in his room before they went to pick up the humans again, and that’s what’s important.

The Master insists on another couple of hours spent relaxing before he lets her go back to Earth - some of which is spent in the sickbay ensuring that her organs are fully and properly stabilized. Miraculously, despite spending hours running around on the Tsuranga ship and generally ignoring medical advice, the Doctor is fine.

“Am I allowed to pilot my own ship, now?” she asks sarcastically, once the Master puts away the last of the scanning equipment.

“Yes, fine,” he sighs. “Wouldn’t want your humans to worry that you’re late. If only you had some way to travel in time, so that such things as deadlines didn’t actually matter.”

She hits him on the arm. “It’s a matter of principle.”

Though he raises an eyebrow, the Master doesn’t say anything. As the Doctor rises from her seat, he offers her his hand, which she takes without thinking. It’s comforting, she thinks as they walk, to have him close so frequently.

When they reach the console room, the Master takes his customary place, leaning against one of the walls to watch as the Doctor dances around the controls.

“You know, it would be a lot less… aerobic if you let me drive too, love,” he notes, watching her stretch almost her entire torso across the console to flip a switch.

“If it were up to me, you would,” she replies. “I trust you not to sabotage me, at least for the most part. The TARDIS is still a little bitter.”

He groans. Over the course of his stay on the TARDIS, he’s apologized no less than a dozen times for whatever perceived slight the ship is annoyed about on any given day. Everything from the Paradox Machine incident, for which he is genuinely sorry, to things as petty as distracting the Doctor during repairs, something he most certainly doesn’t regret. None of it seems to be enough to convince the ship to let him touch her controls without a nasty shock.

“I don’t know what she has against me,” he says. “She didn’t mind half as much when I was Missy, but now, for whatever reason, she hates me.”

The Doctor shrugs unhelpfully. “I’m sure you two will work it out eventually. Now, come on, we have humans to pick up and a universe to explore!”

Grace is not standing amongst the three other humans when the Doctor throws open the doors to a bright Sunday afternoon. Though it’s worrying to have any companion missing, the fact that it’s Grace, who’s usually the first in line for any adventure, is especially concerning.

“Before you ask, Doc,” Graham says, “the hospital’s been swamped with all these people with some sort of sleeping problem, and Grace’s had to work extra shifts this week.”

“What kind of sleeping problem?” the Doctor asks, immediately curious.

“Not entirely sure, Grace’s barely been home to tell me,” he sighs.

“I’ve been dealing with it too,” Yaz says. “People haven’t been falling asleep, just staying awake for  _ days _ and then crashing. Sometimes literally, if they’re driving when it hits. Been making everyone irritable.” She makes a face. “Lots and lots of household disputes.”

“I know I promised you all that I’d take you to Jupiter’s moons this time to see their light festival,” says the Doctor, “but this is very weird and seems worth checking out. What do you all say?”

“I’m worried about Nan,” Ryan says with a nod, as Graham does the same.

“If it means that I can stop breaking up fights between neighbors over nighttime activities, count me in!” Yaz grins.

“Right then!” the Doctor smiles. “Let’s go see what’s going on, shall we?”

Graham is the one to point out that the TARDIS might be a bit conspicuous for the hospital, so in the end, they take a bus. Or rather, several buses. The Northern General Hospital is a long way from Park Hill, giving the Doctor plenty of time to theorize about the source of the mysterious new problem.

“Maybe it’s some sort of parasite, and it keeps them awake while it feeds,” she suggests to the Master. “Or! A psychic signal that’s messing with brainwaves so they can’t fall asleep properly. Ooh, there’s so many options!”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says. “Though I’m not picking up any strong psychic signals, so that one seems unlikely. Unless it’s very well cloaked, but anything that could do that would have its own side effects.”

The Doctor nods, then leans over to Ryan to ask, “Have you noticed any other odd stuff since the sleeping problems started? Anyone complaining of headaches, weird dreams, feeling like their brain is ticklish?”

The baffled and slightly disturbed look he gives her is an answer enough. “No? Should I have?”

“Not necessarily. Just curious,” the Doctor says. “Probably not a psychic signal then, though.”

“So, Doc, do you think this is something alien, or what?” Graham asks.

“I have no idea. Don’t know enough about what’s going on to tell, yet,” she sighs. “Hopefully I can scan some of the victims, get an idea of the symptoms if not the cause. Maybe do some snooping around where they live.”

“That is one thing I’ve noticed,” Yaz says. “All the places I’ve been to have been in the same general area - all kind of to the west. Haven’t dealt with any complaints in the east half.”

“So it could be location-sensitive,” the Doctor ponders. “Interesting.”

A few minutes later, the bus drops them off a short distance from the buildings of the hospital. According to Graham, they need the outpatient’s building, which is a bit of a walk from the bus stop. The grounds of the hospital are warmer than usual in the midday sun, and so it isn’t unpleasant.

When they reach the building in question, tall and made of gray stone, it’s flooded with people. The lobby is crowded, and only half of the crowd seems to be awake and standing; the other half is seated in chairs or on the floor slumped against the walls, asleep or unconscious.

“Right, you scan them while I talk to the receptionist,” the Doctor says to the Master. “I’ll try to get us access to some of the records for the ones in care. Graham, Ryan, Yaz, talk to the ones who’re awake, find out if there could be any other factors we’re missing.”

The humans nod, and spread throughout the room to make conversation with the waiting patients. The Master, however, hasn’t moved.

The Doctor looks at him. “What?”

“Don’t you think it would be a better idea if I talked to the human, and you scanned the unconscious ones?” he asks pointedly.

She considers it for a second, then says, “Do you promise not to-”

“ _ Yes _ , I know, no hypnotism on the humans,” he sighs. “Now hand me your psychic paper, dear. I think government health inspectors might do the job.”

It takes the Doctor a second of rooting through her pockets to procure the psychic paper, which she gives to him. As he turns to make his way through the crowd, she gives his hand one final squeeze before letting go. With that, she gently pushes her way through the throng of people to the nearest wall, and begins surreptitiously scanning the passed out humans.

She frowns as she looks at the readout. The results she gets are worryingly normal, as far as she can tell. According to their brain waves, the sleep they’re experiencing is perfectly ordinary - not psychically or otherwise induced, not a deeper or shallower sleep than average, nothing off or strange in any way. As far as their bodies are concerned, all the humans are going through is a good night’s sleep.

Her companions return not long afterwards.

“Nothin’ seems to be wrong with them,” Ryan says. “Or, nothin’ they have in common.”

“There’s a few people going through withdrawal and whatnot, but not enough for that to be the cause,” Graham offers.

“Nothing new for me either,” Yaz sighs. “Just people complaining that they can’t sleep, not sure why. Though, a couple of them did say there’s been construction around their homes.”   


The Doctor shakes her head. “No luck scanning them. All their brain waves are normal, like they’re just sleeping.”

She doesn’t even jolt when the Master reappears next to her, slipping her psychic paper into her coat - in the wrong pocket, she thinks, but doesn’t care enough to move it. She’ll remember where it is, probably.

“We’ve got permission to look through one of their computers at the patient records,” he announces smugly. “And yes, Doctor, I followed your no hypnotism rule.”

“Brilliant!” she smiles. “Let’s take a nose around, then!”

Prying through patient records reveals a few things. Yaz was correct about the location - all the patients checked in for sleep troubles in the past week had been from the west side of Sheffield. The earliest case of what was likely the same issue had happened two weeks ago, to a man named Jason Thorne, and since then, there had been a steady increase in the numbers of people complaining of sleep troubles.

“Since it seems to be focused on one area, what do you say to checking it out?” the Doctor asks once they’re done, and quickly hurrying out of the hospital before anyone thinks to question who they really are.

“I assume we’ll be taking another bus?” the Master says with a sigh.

“Oi, don’t diss buses!” Graham snaps.

“At this point it would take longer to go back and pick up the TARDIS than it would to take a bus to where we’re headed,” Yaz points out loyally.

The Master glares. It abates slightly when the Doctor takes his hand and says, “I like buses. They’re fascinating, really. Not quite as neat in this century, of course, but once you lot figure out hovertech, they become quite interesting!”

They end up taking another bus, despite the Master’s grumbling. Perhaps it was for the better, though, because it allows both Time Lords to feel the change. Not long after passing over the river, the air takes on a sharp energy, a sort of prickliness it hadn’t had before.

The Doctor jumps slightly at the change. “You felt that too, right?”

The Master nods, eyes narrowed. “Very sharp, very sudden. Means a clear boundary for whatever this is.”

Pulling out her sonic, the Doctor quickly scans the air. This time, the results are roughly what she expects.

“It’s definitely alien,” she says. “And I’m willing to bet it’s not benevolent, with these energy readings. Something is deliberately causing this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent,, a Stupid amount of time on Google Maps and Wikipedia trying to figure out where things are in Sheffeild and yall better appreciate it


	36. Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Homestuck day to everyone contained within their abodes!

The Doctor spends the rest of the bus ride nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt or the lapels of her coat, tapping her fingers against her leg, the strange energy in the air setting her on edge. Even when the Master lays his hand on hers, it doesn’t help, though it is comforting. She understands, now, why people have been having trouble sleeping; even sitting still is hard, right now, and sleep would be impossible. Then, once they leave the radius of effect, all the artificial energy is gone and their bodies react to it the same way they would to pulling several all-nighters in a row, which, technically, is what happened.

She says all this to the humans, grateful for the excuse to move her hands around as she explains.

“So, what’s causing this, then?” Ryan asks.

The Doctor pauses. “Not sure yet, but it’s alien. If we follow the readings off my sonic to wherever the energy is strongest, we should find the source. Hopefully.”   


Scanning for the energy again, she finds that it’s gotten stronger since where they first felt it, just as she’d hoped.

“Yep, that’ll work. Let’s get off at the next stop and see what we can find!” she says.

Following the readings requires wandering around and hoping for the best, so it takes them almost an hour to pinpoint where the energy is strongest. It leads them to a park, full of people enjoying the fresh air and sun.

“Right, I don’t know exactly what this is going to look like,” the Doctor says. “So let’s split up, look around, and if you find anything, call me. Keep an eye out for anything weird.”

“Like, say, an area in the woods missing a bunch of trees?” Graham suggests.

“Yes, something like that!” she nods. “Good example, five points to you.”

“No, Doc, I’m being serious. It’s just behind you.” He points, and she turns to see that he’s right. The cluster of trees she had been facing away from has a strangely circular patch of bare earth in the center of it. In fact, it seems to be almost a perfect circle.

A smile spreads across her face. “Oh, that’s another ten points, Graham, good work!”

“Someone’s gotta be the observant one,” he teases.

The Doctor walks towards the patch of dirt, sonic in hand as she does. She doesn’t step inside it at first, scanning the ground to make sure that it really is the source of the strange energy filling the air. From the sharp increase she picks up, it is. So, naturally, she steps inside the circle.

The sharpness in the air, the prickling energy urging her into movement, becomes unbearable. It feels almost like getting struck by lightning, the burning on her skin electric and painful. Faintly, she feels herself collapse to the ground.

The Master catches the Doctor before she hits the empty dirt below her, quickly dragging her out of the circle before she can be injured further. He presses two fingers to her neck to check her pulse and finds her skin feverish and buzzing with the same energy filling the air. Her hearts are both beating rapidly, and she’s still breathing, though unevenly. Gently, he brushes her hair from her face.

“Oh Doctor,” he sighs. “Why do you do these things?”

The humans crowd around him, fear obvious on their faces.

“What happened?” Yaz demands.

“Energy overload,” he explains. “She walked straight into the source of whatever has been causing this, and it overwhelmed her system. It’s not deadly, not to us, but it’s a good way to get yourself killed if you lot were to try it.”

“Should we get her to a hospital?” asks Ryan.

“No. The best thing we can do right now is get her back to the TARDIS and let her sleep it off,” he says.

He knows how the Doctor feels about hospitals. Even when she’s awake and willingly in them, she’s never been fond of them. Something about them makes her uncomfortable, in a way so gut-reaction-deep and panic-inducing that he would  _ never _ use against her. He knows exactly how to press her buttons, and also which buttons to avoid pressing entirely, lest he lose the strange sort of trust they have between them. He can be cruel and terrible, but there are some lines he doesn’t cross with her. It’s a delicate balance the two of them have, when they’re playing opposite sides, and he does his best to keep it that way.  


So he carries her back to the bus stop, hypnotizes the bus drivers and passengers into ignoring how odd it is that he’s got an unconscious woman in his arms, and gets her back to her TARDIS. Her gaggle of humans are still in tow, worried about her in a way he finds almost endearing, if it weren’t so irritating.

“We’re not just leaving her!” Yaz insists as they stand in front of the doors to the TARDIS.

“And I am not letting you get in the way,” he says, voice cold. “There is nothing you can do that will help her recover; if anything, you may make things worse. I’m sure that as soon as she is well, she will insist on seeing you again. For now,  _ leave. _ ”

It’s a near thing, but he doesn’t slip any hypnotism into his voice, just the anger he feels at the Doctor for being so stupid, and at her humans for not listening.

“What about the sleeping thing?” Graham asks. “Are you just going to leave without fixing it?”   


“In case you haven’t noticed, I am not the Doctor,” he snaps. “I don’t particularly care about you. If she wants to go around playing detective and solving your little problems, I will go along because it makes her happy, but do not for a  _ moment _ think that it’s because I share her attachment to humanity.”

They flinch at that, expressions wounded, but he has more important things to worry about than the emotions of the Doctor’s pets. Before they can react, he shifts the Doctor’s weight so he can free a hand to open the TARDIS doors and steps inside. The doors swing shut behind him, and he quietly thanks the ship for cooperating, for once.

The sickbay won’t be of much use - there’s nothing to be done but wait it out - so instead he takes the Doctor to his room, lays her softly on his bed, and sinks into the chair at his desk with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, not caring that it’s going to stick up at odd angles now; he can always fix it later.

Messing with the half-finished projects on his desk, everything from sheet music to blueprints for a new Tissue Compression Eliminator he knows she’ll never let him make, only serves as a temporary distraction. Nothing can keep his mind off her for long. More than once, he catches himself staring at her as she rests, the rise and fall of her chest evened out now that she’s away from the energy. Even more often than that, he considers the painful revenge he’s going to take on whoever was responsible for this.

Circumstances had prevented him from doing the same for whoever had set the sonic mine on Cephalin 27, but once the Doctor was awake he was sure she would insist on finding the cause of the energy, which meant he would have a chance to hurt them. Slowly and repeatedly, if possible, though he’d settle for quick and excruciating. Of course, that would require getting the Doctor distracted enough she wouldn’t notice the screaming. He’s contemplating exactly how to get away with that when she wakes.

“Where’m’I?” the Doctor mumbles, attempting to sit up and failing.

As soon as he hears her move, the Master is on his feet and beside her. “You’re back in the TARDIS, don’t worry.”

She smiles at that, but then a puzzled expression replaces it. “What happn’d?”   


The anger at her foolish, reckless decision returns. “Well, for whatever  _ stupid _ reason, you decided to go waltzing in to the epicenter of a massive energy field and overload your system. This is the second time in a row you’ve gotten yourself hurt and it wasn’t my fault,  _ love. _ ”

He spits the last word at her like a curse, all the fear and worry and annoyance compacted into one syllable.

“Worth it, though,” she says, finally managing to sit up in the bed. “I got a read on the home planet of the material before I passed out.”

The Master can  _ tell _ it’s an attempt to deflect from the repercussions of her risky actions, because she’s always been a bad liar when it comes to him, but he can’t help the curiosity it rouses.

“And you couldn’t have done that from  _ outside _ the circle?” he asks, annoyed, and then, before he can stop himself, “Where?”

She shrugs. “Not sure. Haven’t exactly plugged in the coordinates to the TARDIS yet, but by the looks of it it’s not from this time, either.”

As she gets up from the bed, she interlaces her fingers with his and tugs him along after her, out to the console room. There’s a part of him that knows he should be annoyed at himself for how easily he’s swayed by a simple touch of her hand, but he also knows it’s been  _ centuries _ since they shared such casual contact with each other, and it’s… nice.

She types in the coordinates, muttering them under her breath as she does, an endearing habit new to this body. As the display screen lights up, she frowns.

“It looks like whatever is causing this was originally from Opellan,” she says. “But at the time the coordinates say it should be, Opellan is a human colony. A pretty wealthy one, too, if I recall correctly. Now why would  _ they _ be doing this?”

The Master has vague memories of going there once. It was a pretty planet, full of stark, towering mountains and jagged cliffs and dark forests. Most of the cities were expanded mining towns, some expensive mineral or another making their growth rapid and their rich richer. He’d only been there briefly, repairing some old tech he’d needed for a scheme quickly before leaving again, likely to hunt down the Doctor.

“We should get the rest of the team and go check it out,” she says. “You weren’t too rude to them while I was knocked out, were you?”   


“Who, me?” the Master asks, throwing his hand to his chest in mock-offense. “Never. Perfect gentleman, as always.”

She laughs at that, and he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since the Master got a chapter almost to himself, and I just couldn't resist the chance to make poor Thirteen suffer more!


	37. Earth Affairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter of this arc!  
> On a personal note, my classes are starting up again, so updates may become a bit more spread out - just a heads up!

Unsurprisingly, the humans have all gone home by the time the Doctor is up again - it’s been almost seven hours since she passed out, though she doesn’t realize until she steps out of the TARDIS and into the dim light of dusk, illuminated by the setting sun. She considers her options as she stands in the cool air. While she  _ could _ easily go and get Yaz from her flat, and then pop over to Grace’s house to pick up the others, it’s late, and humans tend to get prickly when they don’t get enough sleep. So, instead of dragging them off just before they’re likely to go to bed, the Doctor steps back into the TARDIS and moves forward twelve hours.

Not long after she lands, at around 10 in the morning the next day, the doors creak open, revealing her little team, this time with Grace, gathered around the entryway. The Doctor is fairly certain that she hasn’t given them keys yet, so she raises an eyebrow at the TARDIS - she’s always played favorites, but this is a bit much. All she gets in response is a sense of happiness in her mind.

“Doc! You’re up and about again!” Graham says with a smile.

“Heard you got yourself injured, love,” says Grace, looking concerned. “You alright?”   


“Oh, me? Just fine!” she says, waving off Grace’s worry.

“You’re really okay?” Yaz asks.

“Yep!” she nods. “Not much that can keep me down for long. That was just a nasty shock, really, though I’m glad it was me and not one of you. Two hearts are much sturdier than one, easier to survive. Did have to take a bit of a nap, though.”   


“She was passed out for 6 hours and 56 minutes,” the Master corrects, helpfully.

It would be hard to ignore the suspicious glances Yaz and Ryan exchange at that. Clearly the Doctor had missed something, by the slight glares they both level at the Master; he doesn’t seem to notice or care, but she makes a note to ask him what, exactly, he had said to her companions the day before. And possibly apologize to Yaz and Ryan.

“Yeah, alright, it was a bit more than a nap,” the Doctor admits. “But still, important bit is, I found out where and when the source of the energy that’s been keeping everyone awake is from!”

“Was that what you were doing when you stepped in the circle?” Ryan asks.

“Had to get close enough to get a proper read on the signal,” she says, not quite answering the question.

Technically, sure, she probably could have gotten the signal without stepping into the circle. The energy had genuinely blindsided her, however, and she hadn’t expected it to affect her that badly. At worst, she’d been expecting a feeling like getting shocked, not passing out. Still, in the end, she’d gotten what she needed.

“Right!” She turns to the console, pulling levers and flipping switches to prepare for dematerialization. “Who’s ready to take a trip to a human colony planet several centuries in the future?   


Opellan is a nice planet, if foreboding. Wonderful skiing, as the Doctor knows from experience, though Donna hadn’t been a fan. At the time they end up, it’s still in the middle of its industrial boom, the mining business at its peak and the towns expanding faster than people can move in. The city where they land is bustling, almost akin to Victorian England with its towering, crowded buildings, though mainly in shades of blue and purple - the colors of the native rocks, and thus the most common building material on the planet. The TARDIS blends in well with the blue of the building they park in front of.

“For once, a place where your outfit fits in,” the Master mutters, glancing around the busy street. Many of the passersby wear long coats against the chill in the air, and the Doctor’s coat is similar to some of the ones worn by the locals.

The Doctor glares at him as she scans the area with her sonic, searching for the precise location the coordinates had indicated. She’d specifically landed the TARDIS a bit away, though still within what she hoped was running distance, just in case anything happened.

“This way, everyone!” she announces, looking at the readout on her screwdriver. “Stick together, we don’t want a repeat of Inquiss Beta.”

The humans look at each other nervously and stay close behind the Doctor as she walks.

She leads them to a towering office building, made of pale violet stone. According to the name painted large across the wall, it’s the headquarters for Opellan Mining & Gathering Co., Est. 2984. The front entrance is crowded with protesters of some sort, holding signs and chanting slogans  that muddle together into a mess of indistinguishable noise.

Standing in the street for a moment, the Doctor spots a side door unblocked by the crowd and gestures for her friends to follow. With a quick pulse from her sonic, the door unlocks and swings open, allowing them to step inside the building. The interior is made of a darker indigo stone than the outer walls, and it gives the place a more ominous feel, which is only aided by the decor. Imposing portraits, presumably of the previous CEOs and owners of the company, hang from the walls. The welcome robot behind the counter, just humanoid enough to be firmly situated in the uncanny valley, makes a chirping noise and turns its head to face them without moving the rest of its body.

“Hello!” it says, round eyes blinking green. “Welcome to Opellan Mining And Gathering. How may we assist you?”

“That’s just creepy,” Graham mutters, and the Doctor nods.

Glancing down at her sonic to confirm, she says, “This is definitely where the signal leads back to. Not sure why, but I’m sure if we poke around we’ll find  _ something _ .” She looks at the robot. “I’m here to make an appointment with the head of… hmm. Not sure what department this goes under. Earth affairs?”

The robot’s eyes flash orange. “We do not have a department under that name. Please try again with a valid department name.”

“Energy management?” she tries.

“We do not have a department under that name. Please try again with a valid department name,” it repeats. “If you would like, a directory for the departments can be given.”

“Yes! Do that, please,” the Doctor says.

A slot opens up in the robot’s head. “Please insert your valid Opellan Identity Card or Traveller Identity Card into the slot to access the department directory.”

Instead of doing that, she presses her sonic against the slot and scrambles the inner workings of the robot. It beeps, then projects a holographic interface showing a list of departments.

“To make an appointment with one of the heads of the department, press and hold on the department. To contact the department chair, click twice. To contact the CEO regarding the department-ment-ment-” the robot’s mechanical voice begins to glitch, and then the lights in its eyes go dim and it shuts down with a whine. An alarm begins to blare.

**“Intruder alert. Tampering with system detected. Intruder alert.”**

“What exactly did you do when you sonicked that thing?” the Master asks.

“I don’t know, I just sonicked it!” the Doctor says, indignant. “I point my sonic at something mechanical, I sonic it, that solves the problem!”

“Well clearly it didn’t solve the problem this time,” he points out. “If anything, you made it worse.”

She glares. “I noticed.”

“Could you two stop bickering and do something?” Grace asks.

They both look over to where she’s pointing - the hallway behind the counter, leading to the pair of lifts. The floor indicators on both are going rapidly down, and the Doctor highly doubts whatever’s inside is happy.

“Right, new plan, finding out what’s going on here can wait,” she says. “For now,  _ run! _ ”

She takes off toward the side door they had entered through, holding it open to make sure all of them got through before she closes it and sonics it shut again. Quickly, she leads them back onto the main street and into the crowds of protesters. Amongst them, she can make out what they’re all shouting about - slogans such as ‘Protect our past!’ and ‘Keep Earth clean!’

As she leads her companions out of the crowd, the Doctor walks up to one of the many people attempting to ignore the protest.

“Excuse me, what’s that protest about?” she asks.

The woman raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know? Buncha hippies upset that Opellan Mining has been considering using old Earth as a dumping ground for the verethium waste. Been protesting out there for ages now over it. I say, s’long as it doesn’t make wages drop, they can do whatever."

The Doctor bites back a response about the dangers of using somewhere so tied to your own past as a waste disposal zone, and instead says, “Ah, right. And this verethium waste, what is it exactly?”

“Seriously? You a foreigner or something?” The woman gives her an incredulous look.

“Something like that,” she says. “Humor me?”

“I dunno exactly what it does, not a scientist or nothing, but it’s the byproduct of however they refine the verethium we mine. Said it wasn’t safe to store here, has some kinda effect on sleep and productivity levels, so they started looking for other places to dump it.” The woman shrugs. “Claiming they can use vortex manipulator tech to move it to other times, even, but ever since they mentioned Earth all them environmentalists have been up in arms about it.”

“Thanks.” The Doctor’s tone is short, annoyance thinly veiled under politeness.

The woman nods and continues on the way she was walking.

“Right, gang. Team. Fam? No, we decided on team,” the Doctor says. “Right now, we’re about three decades too early for that kind of vortex manipulator tech, not to mention the horrendous misuse of it. Someone in that company is either far smarter than they should be, or they’ve jumped back in time and are on the verge of causing several very unpleasant paradoxes. We need to find them.”

“How’re we gonna do that?” Graham asks.

There’s a sudden burst of noise and a rumbling in the ground. When the Doctor turns to look, one of the buildings across from the Opellan Mining office has dark smoke billowing from an open window. It’s a sight she’s very familiar with, having been on the wrong end of many a messed up experiment over the centuries. The distinct, sour taste of time gone wrong is familiar too, though for very different reasons. She exchanges a glance with the Master - he noticed it too.  


“That looks like a good place to start,” Ryan suggests, and she couldn’t agree more.


	38. Health and Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been almost 2 weeks. I got caught in a bit of a slump and had an awful time with this chapter. I finally managed to work on it these past few days, and even though I feel like the pacing is a bit wonky, it's done and it's here! The next one shouldn't take as long, hopefully!

The smoke pouring from the window has dissipated some by the time the Doctor makes her way to the building and formulates a plan, though the bitter, wrong taste of irresponsible meddling with time still taints the air. Nobody seems to have noticed, or if they did, the explosions were a regular enough occurrence that they didn’t bother to call any authorities. Since the building claims to house labs for several different companies, this isn’t surprising; neither is the fact that the tenth floor, where the explosion had come from, belongs to the Opellan Mining & Gathering Company.

“Right, I’m going to need you four to stay down here,” she tells her companions. “If there really is temporal technology in there, it’s probably too dangerous for you to mess with. If something goes wrong and one of us ends up in the wrong time or place, we can survive without shielding from the Vortex and signal each other. We’ll be fine. The same can’t be said for you - and I’d rather not have that happen again.”

“Have what happen again?” Grace asks.

Amy and Rory and their end flash in front of her eyes. Even though she  _ knows _ all that’s above is likely to be some pathetic, greedy attempts at profiting off unstable time travel, and not Weeping Angels or anything similar, the Doctor isn’t willing to risk losing more companions that way. She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

She doesn’t see the worried, questioning looks the humans exchange as she and the Master head up the stairs.

The Doctor has her psychic paper out and ready by the time she knocks on the door to the lab. The plain white walls of the hallway obscure anything that might be going on inside.

“Hello?” she calls. “Health and Safety Department, we have some inquiries!”

A man in a well-tailored black suit opens the door after a moment. As he looks at the paper, his eyes widen.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize we were due for an inspection. Come right in, Doctor Smith, Doctor Saxon.”

_ “Saxon? Really? That’s what you picked?” _ the Master asks.

_ “I don’t consciously control what it says and you know it,” _ she replies.

The man in the suit turns to face them. “Why are you here so soon after our last inspection, if I may ask?”

“We’re very concerned by whatever caused the explosion that just occurred,” the Doctor says, looking around the lab. It doesn’t take much to confirm her suspicions that someone, hopefully someone listed in the records, has been tampering. All around is a variety of technology that’s just a bit too advanced for the time. The whole place grates against her temporal sensitivity like sandpaper, dozens of tiny paradoxes itching against her skin. There’s a few people in the lab working, only five, but they all seem quite busy with their projects. None of them appear suspicious enough to warrant a closer look.

The man’s eyebrows rise. “You have a very rapid response time.”

“We were already planning a visit, of course,” the Master says smoothly. “But we decided a more immediate inspection was in order after such a volatile reaction.”

There’s a hint of persuasion in his tone, just enough to gloss over the fact that his answer makes very little sense under any scrutiny. The Doctor knows he’s pushing the boundaries of her ‘No hypnotism’ rule, but it’s really no worse than the psychic paper - just convincing the man that what he’s hearing is what he wants to hear. She lets him do it, at least for now, but adds to the mental list of things she needs to have A Talk with him about later.

“Well, given the nature of what we work with here, such an explosion is hardly the worst thing we’ve encountered,” the man says. “Vortex manipulators can be so finicky, I’m sure you know.”

“Yes,” the Master nods, shooting the Doctor a conspiratorial grin - “ _ Cheap and nasty time travel”  _ \- when the man isn’t looking. “Yes, we do.”

The Doctor rolls her eyes at him. “What exactly is it you’re working on currently?”

“In light of our recent ventures into alternative waste disposal methods, and having determined that our preliminary tests have no major impact on our target zone, we’re looking into ways to transport higher quantities of matter with less energy expenditure,” the man explains. “Doctor Linel’s test… backfired, as you saw, but other experiments have come along promisingly.”

In short, it’s precisely what she’d expected. An easy way to get rid of the consequences of their actions, never mind the risks. Sometimes, she isn’t very fond of humanity as a whole.

“I see. We’ll need to take a look through the records by ourselves,” the Doctor says. “Need to make sure everything’s in order, of course.”

“It is not customary to allow inspectors unrestricted access to the files,” the man protests, just a little too defensive to be innocent.

“Policies changed. Didn’t you get the memo?” the Master asks, every inch the sincere office worker.

The man pales and fumbles. “Ah, yes. Of course. The memo. The records are right this way.”

He leads them back the way they came, to an office with filing cabinets lining the walls. Even so many centuries later, humanity hadn’t lost its fondness for paper copies, though the computer in the center clearly served as the main database.

“I’ll be in my office if you need anything,” the man says, and then quickly makes his escape from the room.

“I’d say we have maybe five minutes before he realizes there was no memo,” the Master says. “So best snoop quickly, love.”

Once the Doctor’s had a look through the database, they quickly slip out of the room and back to the lobby below, where the humans are waiting.

“Did you find anything?” Yaz asks.

“Yep!” the Doctor grins. “Found out who brought this tech here, and when he did it. His name’s Nathaniel Peterson, and he’s one of the major shareholders. Now we just need to deal with him.”

The Master’s face lights up.

“Without hurting him,” she adds quickly. “If possible.”

“You never let me have  _ any _ fun,” he sighs.

Graham looks dubious. “How’re we gonna do that? Report him to the time police, or something?”

“Something like that,” the Doctor agrees. “Though it may be a bit tricky to manage, seeing as they frown on other time travelers a bit, and since both the Master and I are technically war criminals.”

Yaz blanches. “You’re  _ what? _ ”

“ _ Anyway, _ ” says the Doctor, “I want to give him a chance before we call the Time Agency, so how about we pay him a visit?”

Before they can react, she’s already halfway to the door, coat swishing behind her.

“No, Doc, I feel like we need to talk about that bit you just said!” Graham calls, though too late for her to answer - she's already gone.

Inconveniently, Opellan Mining seems to have closed after the Doctor’s security breach earlier that day, meaning she has no idea where or how to find Peterson. Briefly, she considers finding his house, but that seems perhaps a step too far, at least right now. So instead, she heads back to the TARDIS, where she quickly realizes that her human companions want answers. Answers she doesn't particularly want to give.  


“Doctor, when you were making us stay in the lobby, what did you mean when you said you’d rather not have it happen again?” Yaz asks. “What ‘it’?”   


“It’s nothing, Yaz,” she says, tone shorter than she meant it to be. “Just… an incident.”

“Clearly it’s not nothing,” says Grace, giving her a look.

She  _ really _ doesn’t want to have this conversation now. Preferably not ever, but especially not in the middle of what is supposed to be a fun adventure. Maybe she can change the subject.

“So, thoughts on how to deal with Peterson?” she asks, forcing fake cheer into her voice.

Judging by the way they all look at her in far too knowing a manner, it doesn’t work. It was a flimsy attempt anyhow, but her only other option was disappearing into the depths of the TARDIS, and given how the ship favors her new strays, there was a good chance she would help them find her. It seems she’s trapped. The Doctor sighs and sits down on one of the hexagonal steps leading further into the TARDIS.

“It’s a long story, and it doesn’t have a happy ending,” she says slowly. “You aren’t the first companions I’ve had travel with me. Not by a long shot.”

“Well, I kinda figured that,” Graham admits. “There’s only so many times you can find doors going to bedrooms you’ve never seen before getting suspicious.”   


The TARDIS doesn’t even bother to act guilty about her blatant meddling; instead, she seems almost proud of herself. The Doctor makes a mental note to have a talk with her about that. No more revealing her pilot’s secrets without permission, thank you very much.

“Anyways, point is, there were these two people I traveled with. They were,” she pauses, trying to think of the right words, “amazing. Amy was unstoppable, and Rory was one of the kindest, most loyal people I have ever met. And I couldn’t protect them, in the end. These creatures, the Weeping Angels, took them and…” Her voice breaks slightly, and she isn’t sure how to continue.

“Weeping Angels?” Ryan asks.

“Horrible things,” the Master sneers. “They feed off potential time energy. Drag their victims to another time and leave them there to die, then eat up all the things they would have, should have done. Time travelers like us are especially tasty.”

“That’s awful,” Grace gasps, eyes wide. “But, couldn’t you have rescued them?”

The Doctor shakes her head. “No, it was… It was a complicated situation. I had already seen their graves, and too much interference on my part could have caused a terrible paradox.”

It isn’t the entire truth, but it’s close enough. She had been awful at endings back then - still was, if she was being honest - and the temptation to do precisely what Grace suggested had been all too strong. But if she had given in, if she had gone and saved them and taken them back to the TARDIS, she would never have been able to put them back. So, in the end, even though it hurt more than her hearts could bear to let them go, she did. It was the only way, really, because if she hadn’t… Well, she has done all sorts of terrible things to save the people she loves, and she knows she would have done more for them.  


“I won’t let that happen to you,” she promises her humans. “Older and wiser now.”

Grace moves close, as if she’s about to give her a hug, but the Doctor stands and steps back. She doesn’t think she can handle being touched right now. With a watery grin, she says, “Anyways! Best you lot get a good night’s rest. Very busy day tomorrow - paradoxes to stop, shareholders to persuade, all that.”

As he walks past her, Graham gives her a worried look. She doesn’t know why, she’s fine. Perfectly fine. Absolutely, 100% fine.

When the humans have left, back to their rooms for the next several hours, the Master says, “You don’t talk about them much. Or any of your old ones, for that matter.”

His tone is just noncommittal enough that she could ignore it if she wanted, and she’s fairly sure he wouldn’t press. A part of her, a very large part, is tempted to do just that. Instead, she sinks back down onto the step. “That’s because it hurts.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he steps closer. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes her hearts ache. “Get some rest, love. I think you need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pond feels? In my s11 fix-it fic? It's more likely than you think!


	39. Time Agency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unrelated to this chapter, but I just finished Leverage and I am still s c r e a m i n g. Anyways, new chapter, enjoy!

The Doctor isn’t entirely sure when she fell asleep, but when she wakes, it’s in a bed she’s fairly certain is hers. The comforter draped over her is the same blue as the TARDIS’s exterior, which only confirms her suspicions that this is her ship’s way of apologizing. As she sits, she glances around her new room - it’s simple, just the bed she’s sitting on, a large and well-stocked worktable against one wall, and several bookshelves with her favorites already lined up. In the back of her mind, the TARDIS sends a gentle warmth through their bond.

She doesn’t stay in bed for long, since she has important things to do, but she does make a note of where her room is located. Perhaps if she spends a few nights there instead of collapsed underneath the console or on a couch in the library, the TARDIS won’t force her to talk to people. Knowing the ship, probably not, but it can’t hurt.

By the time she makes her way to the console room, her companions have already gathered there. Graham has a piece of toast in one hand and a banana in the other.

“Everyone sleep well?” she asks.

An assortment of nods and noises of agreements answer her. She smiles. “Good! Come on, then, no time to lose! The Opellan workday starts early, so Peterson should be there already.”

Just as she’d predicted, the shops lining the street are already glowing with lights, even as the sun begins to light up the sky. It’s a bit chilly in the morning air, and the Doctor can see her breath fogging in front of her as she rambles.

“Opellan’s fauna is  _ fascinating _ . Most of them are subterranean, since the weather is fairly extreme, so a lot of them are burrowing creatures. That’s what makes this such a wonderful planet for mining, actually - a lot of the mine shafts are already made by the native species! Very useful, makes the process a lot faster and cheaper. Of course, that does mean the miners are at a greater risk of getting mauled by whatever made the tunnels, but they work it out by the mid 31st century. Mostly.”

Her miniature lecture fills the time it takes for them to reach the office building. There are no protesters today, it seems. Perhaps they were scared off by the security. Regardless, the front door to the building is unobstructed now.

Inside, the space where the welcome robot had been the previous day is empty. In its place are two distressed technicians, who don’t seem to have made much progress repairing the defunct robot, and one very bored-looking secretary. As the Doctor walks up to the desk, the woman looks up from her holographic magazine.

“Hello, welcome to Opellan Mining!” she says, a fake smile on her face. “Unfortunately, our welcome robot is down due to unforeseen technical difficulties, so I’m handling any questions or appointments you may have today.”

“Yes, we have a meeting with Nathaniel Peterson,” explains the Master. He subtly leans just far enough over to see the calendar on the desk. “On behalf of the board of investors.”

“The board of…” the woman glances down at the calendar. “Oh! Yes, of course. Will you be needing directions?”

“Yes, definitely,” the Doctor nods.

“Well, the meeting room is on the fourth floor, third door on the left from the elevators,” the woman says.

“And what about his office?”

The woman pauses. “Why would you- never mind. Fifth floor, second door on the right. He doesn’t like visitors much, though. Probably better if you wait in the meeting room.”

“Right, yeah, ‘course,” the Doctor agrees. “Just in case, though. Thank you!”

With that, she heads to the elevators. It won’t be long until the actual board of investors arrives, and she’d rather be out of the building by then.

“Doctor, are you sure we should be doing this?” Yaz asks nervously. “I mean, it feels kind of illegal.”

They’re standing just outside the door to Peterson’s office, and the reality of the situation seems to have just hit the young woman. She shifts anxiously from foot to foot.

“Of course not, Yaz!” the Doctor says, in as reassuring a tone as she can manage. “It’s not like we’re doing anything, really. Just having a nice chat, hoping he changes his ways before we have to get the authorities involved.”

“It’s like going to knock on your neighbor’s door when they’re blaring music, instead of calling, well, you,” Grace adds.

Yaz nods. “Just a domestic dispute.”

“Exactly,” the Doctor smiles.

Companion successfully reassured, she opens the door without knocking. No point in letting him know they’re coming.

The office is the sort of neat that only happens when nothing important occurs within it. A set of dark wood shelves - likely imported from another planet, and very expensive - line the walls, filled with leather-bound books and pricey, useless knicknacks. The desk in the center of the room is large and intimidating, and matches the shelves. Seated behind the desk is an older man, wearing a bland suit. He looks up from the papers on his desk as the Doctor and her companions enter.

"I do not believe you have an appointment," he says, looking them over with obvious disdain.

"And I don't believe that technology you're developing in those labs is supposed to exist yet," the Doctor replies. “Or that you should be using it to make Earth a dumping ground.”

"Ah. Another protester. I thought you were done for the week," Peterson sighs. "We have a legal department for this, you know. Our activities have been cleared by leading scientists."

"Scientists funded by you and your company," she snaps, stepping forward and doing her best to loom. The effect is somewhat negated when he stands, and it becomes obvious he has a good six inches on her.

"Ma'am, if you have an issue with our business practices, I'm sure we can discuss this in a more reasonable manner, when you have an appointment." He levels a stern look at her, managing to be both condescending and utterly infuriating. "Until then, please remove yourself and your friends from the property."

"I'm giving you a chance to fix your mistakes, before you ruin the past beyond recognition," the Doctor warns. “Or else we’ll have to get the Time Agency involved, and they won’t be so generous.”

Peterson laughs at that. “The Time Agency? Oh, do go ahead and try. I doubt they’ll care enough to interfere with a few pieces of technology, or a little waste disposal. And if they do, well… my ‘mistakes’ have made us more than enough money to make them go away. Good day, miss.”

Beside her, the Doctor can feel the Master’s anger, matching hers. As much as she wants to stay and make Peterson listen, she knows it won’t do any good. And she doesn’t want to frighten her humans. So, she settles for a glare, then turns and leaves, grabbing the Master’s hand to make sure he follows her.

“You know, I don’t feel so bad about doing that,” Yaz comments as they stand in the elevator. “Even if it was, you know, dubiously legal.”   


“See, you’re learning!” the Master grins. Yaz makes a face at his approval. “Now, Doctor, since we tried the nice way, can I please go kill him before he gets a chance to even do this?”

“Oh!” the Doctor exclaims. “Idea! Kind of like that but without the murder.”   


“Of course it is,” he mutters, just loud enough for her to hear.

“We pop back to before he came back here - well, we go forward, technically, but backwards in all the important ways - and stop him from being able to travel here.”

“Won’t that still cause a paradox?” Ryan asks. “‘Cause without him doing this, we won’t have a reason to come here in the first place.”

The Doctor and the Master answer simultaneously.

“Well, not really.”

“Yes.”

Shooting the Master a brief glare, the Doctor says, “Yes and no. Yes, it will cause a paradox, but it won’t be as bad as you think.”   


“Why not?” asks Graham.

The real answer is, because we’re the ones doing it. Because it will have been orchestrated by two Time Lords, capable of judging whether the original plethora of paradoxes or the new one will be worse for the universe, rather than a selfish, greedy human. Because the Doctor knows it’s the right way to do this. Because Earth is under her protection, even from its future.

“We know what we’re doing,” the Master replies, aptly summing up her thoughts. “Time Lord isn’t just a pretentious title.”

“Exactly,” she says. “Now, come on, we need to head back to the TARDIS. This is gonna take some planning.”

Watching the two of them work is almost mesmerizing, Yaz thinks. They move in perfect harmony, as though dancing to music only they can hear. The Doctor had printed some complicated chart, all interlocking circles - some kind of language, she thinks, though the TARDIS won’t translate it - and multicolored lines intersecting at odd angles. Both she and the Master are leaning over it, a pen in each hand.

There’s a ringing noise in her ears as she watches them, and she can see that they’re talking, but she can’t make out the words. By the annoyed look on the Doctor’s face, they’re arguing again. The Master had spent the whole walk back attempting to persuade the Doctor that killing Peterson would be easier, much to Yaz’s horror.

She still doesn’t get what the Doctor sees in him. He’s utterly insane, flat out terrifying half the time and inexplicable the other half. Yaz had once walked in on him in one of the living rooms, and he had been utterly engrossed in an episode of Teletubbies. She had left before he noticed her, or at least she’s pretty sure she did, because he’s never brought it up. Another time, she had found him in the kitchen arguing with the air about the quality of his toast. And yet, despite his delight at the idea of murder, his bizarre habits, his obvious dislike of humanity as a concept, and literally  _ everything else _ about him, the Doctor holds onto his hand like a lifeline anywhere they go.

At first, she had thought it was to make sure he didn’t wander off and toss a sack of kittens in a river or something, and she was still convinced that was part of it, but after Tsuranga, Yaz wasn’t so sure anymore. Sure, she had seen her kiss him back on Desolation, and had listened to his extremely condescending explanation of their relationship - ‘enemies with benefits’ her  _ ass _ \- but it had taken a while for it to really sink in how much they needed each other. The Doctor had been a mess before he’d shown up, and then as soon as he appeared in the room, she had relaxed so quickly it was almost worrying.

And yet, despite all of that, at times they dance around their blatantly obvious feelings like a pair of kids. It would almost be funny, if she didn’t have to put up with their loud, frequent spats in person.

The Doctor’s shout of triumph jolts Yaz out of her thoughts.

“Ha _ ha! _ ” she crows. “If we do it here, there should be minimal backlash on the timestream. He won’t even realize anything’s happened! Isn’t that great, Yaz?”

She gestures with the green pen in her right hand at the colorful mess of lines on the paper. Circled and underlined repeatedly is one point along an orangey-red line, a few inches away from where it shifts to blue. Yaz nods, extremely confused.

“Yeah, sure, Doctor,” she says.

“Why’re you still up?” the Doctor asks suddenly, bouncing from inexplicably from subject to subject. “Everyone else is in bed. Well, except us, obviously, but we’re supposed to be up. Not you, though. You should be asleep.”

“I’m not really tired,” she shrugs. “Might go watch a movie, want to join me?”

She isn’t surprised when the Doctor shakes her head, saying she has “other things to do, but thanks, Yaz,” and then disappearing down one of the many halls of the TARDIS. She is also not surprised when the Master quickly stands and follows her. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he’s not done having her attention focused on him.

Yaz sighs. They really need to work out their issues.


	40. Plethora of Paradoxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this arc is finally here! I hope you all enjoyed it!

After a lengthy argument-slash-planning session with the Master, having finally picked the perfect point to interfere with Peterson’s timeline, the Doctor heads to her workshop. She needs something to do with her hands while the humans sleep. Lost in her thoughts, trying to decide what project she should work on next, she doesn’t even notice the Master until he sits on the table.

“What are you doing?” she asks. She’d thought he would have taken advantage of the peace and quiet to spend time with Georg, or whatever he does when he isn’t following her around.

“I’m bored,” he complains.

She scronches her nose. “How? There’s Georg, the library, the game room, the pools, I’m pretty sure there’s still a rainforest on the lower levels, and I know you have your own workshop somewhere.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighs. For a moment, he’s silent, fingers tapping against the tabletop as he considers what to say.

The Doctor speaks before he can. It’s obvious there’s _something_ going on, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Which do you think I should work on first, some gear for the plan or fixing the fridge from the secondary kitchen that I broke a week ago?” 

“You broke the fridge?”

“Well, technically the dry ice I was trying to infuse the freezer with broke the fridge, but I put it there in the first place, so… yes. I broke the fridge.”

“Is that what you were doing?” he says, making a face. “Doctor, you should have seen that one coming, dear.”

“Look, I thought adding an extra insulating layer would stop it,” she says defensively. “Clearly, it didn’t. You still haven’t answered my question.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Gear first. You should fix the fridge at some point, though for your plan to work it’s going to need some dimensionally transcendental wiring.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have any,” she mutters, knowing full well she doesn’t. It’s part of the challenge, she tells herself.

It takes three hours to finish the various gadgets that are going to make the plan work, and another four to fix the fridge. Half of that time was spent improvising the wiring the Master had warned the Doctor she would need, which she is most definitely not a bit bitter about. The Master, instead of making himself useful, points out all the ways she could have made things easier on herself. She resolutely ignores him.

Once she’s done, nearly nine hours have passed since the humans had gone to sleep, and they’re beginning to wake. Grace, as always, is the first up, followed by Graham and Yaz, with Ryan slinking into the primary kitchen nearly half an hour later. The Doctor never participates in their group breakfasts. Something about the thought of getting that close to them makes her anxious. It’s never ended well in the past. So instead, she waits in the console room for them to come to her.

“Right, is everyone ready to cause a paradox?” the Doctor asks cheerily.

They don’t look entirely sure what the right answer is, glancing at each other nervously.

“Well, it’ll mostly be me and the Master causing the paradox, you lot are just facilitating it,” she adds.

“All you need to do is not mess up,” the Master says. “I’m relatively sure you can handle that.”

“Here’s the plan. I’m going to take us to a point a few days before Peterson goes back and starts this whole mess, and Ryan and Yaz are going to steal his vortex manipulator. It shouldn’t be too hard, it’ll look sort of like a bracelet with lots of buttons. Then, just to make sure he doesn’t try anything else, Grace and Graham, you’re going to stick this on him.” She holds up a small, round, translucent green sticker. “Basically, it’ll stop him from traveling in the Vortex. I, um, borrowed this from a friend of mine.”

By that, the Doctor meant she had helped remove it from River following one of her stays at Stormcage, after they had been testing out some new technology intended to keep prisoners from escaping. It essentially made the wearer so temporally inert they acted as an anchor, which tended to have unpleasant side effects if they tried to enter the Vortex unprotected. Such as a shorter lifespan, strange dreams involving malicious snails, or, if they actually managed to get into the Vortex, the temporal equivalent of drowning. Not that her companions really needed to know any of that.

“The Master and I will be in the TARDIS, making sure the timelines stay stable and where we want them, and that reality doesn’t throw a fit and devour the planet.”

Technically, what it would _actually_ do was erase the paradoxes from existence entirely as a result of the temporal backlash, sort of like a rubber band being stretched and then snapping back to hit the person holding it. That just didn’t roll off the tongue as well, though.

Graham’s eyes go wide. “Sorry, _what?_ ”

The Master grins. “Oh, you didn’t know? It’s a side effect of deliberate paradoxes, especially when done without a Paradox Machine. Since we don’t have one of those, and I enjoy my limbs too much to try making one, we have to manually sort out the timelines. I, at least, passed that class, so I’m sure it will be fine.”

“I passed!” the Doctor protests. “Eventually. But really, it’s probably fine. Six out of ten chance it won’t happen.”

“Doctor, you are very bad at being encouraging,” Grace says, not entirely teasing.

She makes a face at that, then begins moving around the console. Earlier, she had locked the TARDIS onto Peterson’s timeline, so it’s only a quick hop backwards along it to bring them to the correct day. Just to make sure, she opens the doors to see Opellan, several decades into its original future if the technology and the taste of the air is anything to go by.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” she asks. “Oh! You need the earpieces. Almost forgot those, that would _not_ have been good!”

Reaching into her pocket and past several layers of other stuff, she pulls out the earpieces she had put together a few hours earlier and hands one to each human.

“There, now we can stay in touch. I’ll be able to hear everything you say.”

“Cool,” Ryan grins.

“Where’s Peterson going to be?” asks Yaz.

“Not quite sure, honestly,” the Doctor says. “But the TARDIS tracked his timeline and landed us here, so he must be nearby!”

“Oh, great,” Graham mutters.

“I’m sure you can do it!” she coaxes. “Now, we need to get set up for our part of the plan, so you lot need to get going. Good luck!”

As soon as the humans leave, the Doctor begins flipping switches and pressing buttons on the TARDIS. It’s been a very long time since she had to make use of some of these functions, and the ship protests a bit at the strain.

“I know, I know,” she whispers, low and soothing. “It’ll be quick, though, and we’ll be doing most of the heavy lifting. Just need a little _oomph_ to get us started, that’s all.”

The console room fills with a map similar to the one she and the Master had spent hours looking over the night before, though now in 3-D. Strictly speaking, they don’t need the visual aid, but it’s easier this way to spot any major changes to the timeline. Within their own heads, they can see every detail, every quiver of the strings, and that level of intricacy will be too distracting now. Tiny snags get absorbed into the fabric easily enough; all they need to watch for are the tears and tangles.

“Hey, Doc, can you hear me? Is this thing on?” Graham’s voice comes through the TARDIS speakers, too loud by far.

“Yes, I can hear you,” she says. “You don’t need to shout.”

She can hear Grace laugh fondly at that.

“I think we found Peterson,” Yaz says after a few moments. “He’s leaving the same labs we saw the explosion from.”

Already, the timelines have begun to shift in anticipation of what’s about to happen. They fracture on the display, hundreds of individual paths, though most of them rejoin into the same basic shape further down. So far, it’s nothing major enough for any backlash.

“It’s about to get rough,” the Master warns. He’s sitting on the steps, eyes unfocused as he looks deeper, further ahead. The Doctor can’t afford the same luxury; she has to stay firmly enough in the present to keep the humans on track.

She can tell when they get the vortex manipulator before Yaz announces it, because the rapid change in the map projected across the room almost gives her vertigo. The universe protests at the change, at the _wrongness_ of what just happened and why. It’s too much for one Time Lord to handle, and she quickly realizes that she’s going to need to help. The Doctor braces herself against the console, stretches her mind outside of the confines of the standard dimensions, and _reaches_.

It’s a skill all Time Lords have to master, but it is by no means an easy one. Manipulating timelines directly is draining, and even before the Time War had torn continuity to pieces, it had been risky. Now, without the Time Lords stabilizing the timelines the way they had, it is both easier and far, far worse. No strict rules to work around, but none of the structural integrity they had provided, either. Still, the two of them have always been good at improv.

The Master is the one doing the delicate work, while the Doctor pulls the strands of time far enough apart that he can pick and choose where to rearrange them. He knots up the _now_ s and the _almost_ s and the _couldhavebeen_ s and the fracturing timelines, securing them off to the side and out of the way. Not gone - that would take far too much effort, for too little a reward - but untouchable, now. Taking the loose ends of the remaining threads, they weave them together into something that fills the gaps well enough, if not neatly. A few people might notice the change, might have dreams of the residual differences, but there are few enough temporally-sensitive beings left now that it hardly matters. Perhaps another Time Lord would be able to taste it in the air; however, that’s hardly likely, and they have too much of a reputation to be worth pursuing.

Finally, everything settles into a _notquitenow_ , a strange in-between state where their minds are still caught up in the timelessness, but they’ve forced themselves into reality once again. Both of them are breathing heavily, hearts racing from the difficult work.

Grace’s voice, concerned and gentle, breaks the silence. “Doctor? Are you alright? You went quiet for a moment.”

It takes the Doctor a moment to respond. “Yep, just peachy! Sorry, timelines needed to get- oh, there really isn’t a good word for it in English, but we basically moved them under the rug. Well, more like putting them on a shelf out of reach of the rest of causality. Sort of.”

“That is the worst explanation you possibly could have given,” the Master says.

“Yes, well, hardly my fault they don’t have the right tenses,” she replies. “Anyways, the paradox is stable, and the planet’s not going to disappear now, so you should be good to go!”

“If you say so, Doc,” Graham says.

Humans taken care of for now, the Doctor lets out a sigh and moves to sit next to the Master on the steps. Somewhere between then and when the humans return to the TARDIS, they end up sprawled across each other; the Doctor’s head is on the Master’s chest, his arm around her waist, their legs pressed together. The TARDIS at least does them the courtesy of making the companions knock before letting them in, giving the two exhausted Time Lords time to separate and act as though nothing had happened.

Ryan enters first, grinning, the vortex manipulator in his hand.

“What’re you going to do with it?” he asks as the Doctor grabs it from him. “Blow it up or something?”

She scronches. “Nothing that dramatic. Probably just going to use it for parts, honestly.”

“This means that everything should be back to normal on Earth, right?” Grace asks.

“Well, it’ll never have happened, for everyone else,” the Doctor explains. “We’ll all still remember, since we were all at the source of it, but nobody else will. So, yes, all back to normal!” She tucks the vortex manipulator into the depths of her coat pocket, and then begins to move around the console. “Speaking of normal, are you all ready to head back to Sheffield?”

“Until next Saturday,” Yaz grins. “But then you’re taking us to Jupiter for that light festival you promised us!”

“Naturally!” the Doctor agrees, smiling.

One more press of a button is all it takes, and then they’re back in Sheffield, mere hours after they had left, though for them it was much longer. As her companions leave, waving and saying their goodbyes, the Doctor basks in the glow of another adventure over with. She’s more than a little glad the abrupt end seems to have distracted them from the many, many questions they’re sure to have, at least for now. Eventually, she knows, she’s going to have to answer some of them, but talking about the Ponds has been more than enough for one trip. Still, she tries not to dwell on that, and instead turns to the Master, still sat on the steps.

“I am _exhausted_ ,” she sighs. “I’m going to go to my bedroom and hopefully sleep off the headache that’s coming on. Want to join me?”

He doesn’t reply, but he does pull himself to his feet and take her hand when she passes him, and that’s answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, Kerblam! should be next, but since I just did a Capitalism Sucks arc, I'm thinking I might move Witchfinders forward instead, since I have been waiting to do that episode in this AU since I started writing it.


	41. Interlude: Headache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice fluffy interlude before we start the Witchfinders arc! I should be posting the first chapter of that tomorrow, if everything goes according to plan

Despite her hopes that sleeping would deter the inevitable headache resulting from messing with the timelines, the Doctor wakes up with a pounding in her skull that makes her want to remove her brains. Next to her, the Master seems similarly miserable - he’s rolled over so his head is buried in one of the pillows, and she can feel the annoyance he’s projecting far too well. Going back to sleep seems impossible now that she’s awake, so she forces herself upright with a groan.

“Do you want water?” she asks, getting off the bed and doing something that could technically be called standing.

The faintly muffled, deeply irritated noise the Master makes in reply doesn’t actually help, but she chooses to interpret it as a yes.

“Right, I’m gonna get us water,” she nods.

Shuffling to the nearest kitchen feels like a monumental task at this point, but somehow the Doctor manages. The TARDIS, thoroughly unsympathetic, makes her get the glasses of water herself. When she returns to her bedroom, the Master has finally woken up properly, though only barely. She sets one glass on the bedside table and holds the other out to him.

“Why did we think that was a good idea?” he grumbles, taking a quick sip of water.

“The alternative was letting Earth get destroyed, and that would’ve caused even more problems,” she answers dutifully.

He knows this. They both know this. It does absolutely nothing to make the headaches less terrible. Neither does curling up against each other, foreheads pressed together and hands touching, but that at least brings some kind of comfort.

Later, once the pain in her head has faded to a more bearable level, the Doctor says, “When I had passed out, you got me back here, but it was just us when I woke up. And afterwards, Yaz and Ryan kept glaring at you. More than usual, that is. What exactly did you do?”   


The Master sighs. “Are we really talking about this  _ now? _ Can’t it wait until my current misery is over?”

She doesn’t dignify his deflection with a response. After a moment, he breaks.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “I told them they weren’t going to help anything hovering around and fretting, and to go home. They got upset that I wasn’t going to leave you alone to fix their little problem, and how  _ dare _ I not drop everything to help them? I reminded them that I don’t actually care about their ideas of morality, and for whatever reason that upset them. Happy?”

“You should’ve been nicer,” she says. “They were just worried about me.”

“Yes, well, that’s not their problem.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, are you the only one allowed to care about me, now?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” He snuggles closer to her, which is almost impressive given how close they had been before.

The Doctor smiles despite herself and runs her fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. It’s soft but annoyingly short, and part of her wishes she had taken the chance to play with Missy’s hair more when she had had it. Too late now, she supposes.

“I’m not going to play favorites with my friends. That isn’t fair and you know it.”

“They’re not friends, they’re  _ pets _ ,” he says. “And we passed friends a long time ago, dear.”

He isn’t wrong, at least on the second point. It’s hard to quantify exactly  _ what _ their relationship is at this point, something somewhere between the center of each other’s universe and their worst enemy, but friendship seems too small a box to put it in.

“They really aren’t that bad,” she protests. “You and Grace seem to get along well.”

“She’s entertaining, and we have an understanding.”

Shaking her head with a sort of fondness the Master most certainly does not deserve, the Doctor sighs. One of these days, she’s sure, he’ll admit he does occasionally care about her companions.

They drift off into comfortable silence after that. The Doctor’s mind begins to wander, as it so often does; plans for future trips, projects that could use the parts from the vortex manipulator, how soothing it is to feel two hearts next to her own. Touch is a tricky thing for her, this time around, but not with him. Without really thinking about it, she presses a kiss to the top of the Master’s head. He shifts slightly and makes a questioning sort of noise.

“Did I do something?” he asks.

She shrugs. “No, just felt like it. It’s nice, having you here.”

She isn’t entirely sure whether she means ‘here’ as in ‘next to her, right then specifically’ or as in ‘on the TARDIS, traveling with her’, but either works.

“It’s nice being here,” he says. “Not so much rampant destruction, of course, but…”

But it’s worth it, he doesn’t say; not that he has to. She understands. It’s a trade off for him, and not always an easy one. She indulges his impulses to wreak havoc, and he begrudgingly puts up with her morals and rules. Uphill battles, and all that.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he knows what for, even if she doesn’t specify. They know each other well enough for that.


	42. Apple Bobbing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of the Witchfinders arc! It starts out happy, but I will warn you now - it Does Not Last. I'm very sorry. This is not going to be a very happy arc.

“Dear, just admit your steering is awful,” the Master pleads. “This could not more clearly be the wrong place.”

“I’m sure it’s somewhere around here,” the Doctor protests.

She had been aiming for the coronation of Elizabeth I, at Yaz’s behest. She’s fairly certain she got the time and general location right, or at least  _ close _ . Any moment now they were going to round some corner and find it. Probably.

“Come on, Doc, really?” Graham sighs.

“Don’t know what you mean!” she says stubbornly, continuing down the path.

Though it leads to a festival or faire of sorts, it’s certainly nothing big enough for a coronation. There’s chatter and bustling people, couples dancing, children running to and fro across the clearing, and not a single sign of royalty anywhere to be seen.

“It’s like a street party,” Ryan observes. “Ye olde hipster pop-up happening.”

“Okay, yes, maybe the TARDIS was a bit off,” the Doctor admits. “She can be stubborn with precise readings sometimes.”

“So where are we?” Yaz asks, but it’s too late - the Doctor’s attention has already been grabbed by something far more interesting.

“Apple bobbing!” she grins. “I love apple bobbing!”

Without hesitation or warning, she veers off toward the bucket of apples, dragging the Master with her. She leans down and comes back up with an apple in between her teeth on the first try.

“Is today a holiday?” Grace asks the child standing by the bucket.

“It’s Sunday,” the boy offers.

“Yeah, but what’s the party for?” Yaz wonders.

He looks at her like the answer should be obvious. “We do this every Sunday.”

“Oh, happy Sunday,” the Doctor says, muffled by the apple. She takes a bite out of it, hums approvingly, then offers it to the Master, who obligingly takes a bite as well.

The ringing of a bell peals through the clearing, quieting the festivities. The man ringing it is older, bearded, and severe-looking.

“Mistress Savage demands your presence!” he announces. “The ceremony will begin.”

Almost instantly, everyone stops what they were doing and begins filing out of the clearing. In the time it took the man to make his ominous statement, the joy and fun of Sunday has drained.

“Anybody else missing the party vibe all of a sudden?” Graham mutters.

“Come on,” the Doctor says, all delight gone in a second.

She’s figured out when they are now, or close enough to it. The 1600s are not a good time in human history when it comes to their treatment of oppressed peoples, and she has a sneaking suspicion about what exactly the ceremony is. None of the options are good.

They follow after the line of villagers through the woods. The late autumn chill does nothing to ease the tense worry surrounding them. The calling of birds through the trees makes it eerier still.

“Where are they all going?” Yaz asks.

“Whatever this is, I need you all to remember the most important thing about dips into the past,” the Doctor warns. “Do not interfere with the fundamental fabric of history.”

“Even if something’s wrong?” Grace says.

Every human she’s ever traveled with, or at least all the good ones, has had the same instinct to fix their own past. It’s only natural, she knows, to look at history books and wish you could do something about the atrocities written in them. Time Lords are, of course, broken of that instinct swiftly and mercilessly, though it never quite stuck for her or the Master. Still, reckless interference is something she does genuinely try to avoid most of the time, and this would be a much harder paradox to fix than the one they’d handled a few trips earlier.

“Yep,” she says. “And judging by the vibe here something is definitely not right.”

In front of them is a girl, perhaps in her early teens, wearing a simple grey cloak. She’s crying, soft sobs that make the Doctor’s hearts hurt to hear. A part of her wants to comfort her, but she's found that so far, she's terrible at it this time around. Luckily, she doesn't have to.  


Grace picks up her pace to walk next to the girl. “You alright, love?”

As soon as she asks, the girl stops crying, throwing them all a distrustful glance, and speeds up ahead of them. The Doctor shares a worried look with her companions; whatever they’re about to see is not going to be pleasant.

When they finally make their way out of the woods, they can see the surrounding area much better. A river stretches in front of them, and beyond it lies a large house atop a small rise. Further on, a much larger hill sits against the dismal sky like a sleeping giant.

“That’s Pendle Hill,” Graham notes. “We’re in Lancashire.”

The villagers have gathered on the banks of the river, a tight huddle that indicates far more fear than excitement. On the opposite bank, a woman in a dark red gown stands on a wooden platform, flanked by armored men. Dangling over the river sits an old woman, chained to a long tree branch balanced so that it can easily be dunked beneath the water.

“People of Bilehurst Crag,” the woman, likely Mistress Savage herself, begins. “We are forced to meet here once again.”

The Doctor forces her way through the crowd, moving people aside until she’s right up against the riverbank. A few of them throw her dirty looks, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“Satan stalks this land. We must continue to root him out, and do whatever it takes to save the soul of our village. Let us put the accused to the test.”

“Granny!” the girl in the cloak cries. She looks devastated.

“It’s a witch trial,” the Doctor whispers. “Must be early seventeenth century.”

She hadn’t wanted to say anything until she was certain, but this was more than enough confirmation.

“Old Mother Twiston, you stand accused of witchcraft,” Mistress Savage proclaims, “and shall be tried by my ducking stool, hewn from the mightiest tree on Pendle Hill. If you drown, you are innocent. If you survive, you are a witch, and shall be hanged!”   


A murmur of “Duck the witch!” begins within the crowd.

“This is way too dark for me,” Ryan says, a worried look in his eye.

“We’ve got to do something, Doctor!” Yaz insists, and Grace nods.

“Ah, the Doc said don’t interfere,” Graham argues. “You said don’t interfere, right?”

The Doctor takes a deep breath. Beside her, the Master shoots her a warning glance.

“Don’t cry, Willa!” Mother Twiston calls. She says something else, though it’s too quiet to hear across the river. Willa seems to know it, though.

“I will still be with you,” she whispers. “In the water. In the air.”

“Duck the witch!” Mistress Savage orders, and the crowd descends into chaos.

Grace looks at the Doctor. “You can’t let this happen.”   


“No,” the Master says. “Whatever you’re planning, no.”

There’s a horrible, frozen moment in between the branch tipping downwards and the splash of water as it drops below the surface. Willa shouts, and the Doctor makes up her mind.

Tugging her coat off and handing it to the Master, she says, “Meet me on the other side!” and then dives into the river.

The water is cold, though it’s not nearly as bad for her as it likely is for Mother Twiston. She can make out bits and pieces of Savage’s indignant shouting as she swims, but not enough to put together what she’s actually saying. Once she reaches Mother Twiston, undoing the chains is simple enough, as is dragging the woman out from the water. Despite how quickly she acted, though, the Doctor has a terrible feeling she was too late.

“Doctor, we’re here!” Yaz shouts, running towards her along the riverbank.

“You will be punished for your interference!” Savage warns. “The trials are sacred. They are the will of God!”   


“Is she alive?” Willa calls, half-hopeful, from across the river.

Grace, already kneeling by Mother Twiston with her fingers on her pulse, shakes her head. The Doctor’s stomach plummets.

“I’m sorry,” she says, just loud enough for Willa to hear. The girl begins to sob again.

“Now we have no way of knowing whether Mother Twiston was a witch or not!” Savage snarls. “Guards, whip these wanderers off this bank, then seize Willa Twiston. We can take no chances.”

“Leave her alone,” the Doctor says, stepping forward. She takes no small amount of grim satisfaction in the way the guards rush to draw their swords. “I bet my life neither of these women are witches, but  _ you _ , Mistress Savage, are without question a murderer!”

“Who are you to address me this way?” Savage sneers.

“I’ll tell you who we are,” the Master says, stepping beside her, brandishing the psychic paper. The guards flinch again.

It takes Savage a moment to read it, and then she looks baffled. “Witchfinder General?”

Glancing at the Master, the Doctor nods. “That’s right! With my crack team, taking over this village. Right, gang?”

“Yeah,” Graham agrees after a second. “‘Cause  _ you _ are in special measures!”

“Now do you recognize our authority?” she asks, just a hint of smugness in her tone.

Savage curtsies ever so slightly. “I do beg your pardon, Mistress Witchfinder. Please, come to my home. We must talk in private.”

“If you swear not to hurt that girl, or anyone else.”

“If that is your wish, you have the command.”

After a moment, the Doctor turns to the crowd across the river. “Everybody, go home! This trial is over.”

As the villagers turn and leave, Willa remains on the riverbank. Her tear-filled eyes watch the Doctor as she turns to the guards.

“Return the body to Willa Twiston,” she orders. “Let her bury it in peace.”

It’s hardly enough to make up for failing the poor girl, but it’s all she can do for now. She hopes it helps.


	43. Royal Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next part of the Witchfinders episode. Hope you all enjoy!

Mistress Savage leads the six of them back to her home. Along the walk, the Master gives the Doctor her coat back, but pointedly avoids holding her hand. She tries her best not to be annoyed at that, though she’s already not pleased about being sopping wet. Which, now that she considers it, may be part of the reason he isn’t holding her hand.

“Please forgive me, Mistress,” Savage says. “If I’d have known who you were, I’d have bowed to your authority immediately.”

“So tell me, who exactly are you?” the Doctor asks. “And what gives you authority here?”

“I am Becca Savage, landowner of Bilehurst Crag,” she replies. “It belonged to my late husband, passed to me when he died. I have tried to be a benevolent leader, but… it’s very difficult in these times, especially for a woman.” She glances over, perhaps searching for some sympathy, though the Doctor is hard-pressed to muster any.

“If you’re the landowner, why’re you walking? Where’re the horses?” the Doctor asks.

“Horses are banned in Bilehurst. They are creatures of Satan. I had them all shot.”

That would explain it, then. Not exactly eager to continue the conversation, the Doctor slows down and lets the Master catch up with her. He still seems annoyed at her for being so foolish, though she can’t tell if it’s her involvement in general or her choice to jump into a freezing river in late fall that did it.

“You have _no idea_ how much it bugs me that I’m not Missy right now,” he mutters.

She bites back a laugh. “They would accuse you of witchcraft faster than they would me. You do remember how you dressed, right?”

“I,” he protests, “looked like a polite member of proper society, if a bit ahead of the times. You, love, look like you’re going to run off and join a circus.”

“Hey, Doc,” Graham says. “Grace and I, we’ve done the old Pendle Witches Walking Trail. Nobody ever mentioned Bilehurst Crag. Never heard of it. And she’s killed thirty-five people.”

“Thirty-six, now,” Ryan corrects. “Maybe she wipes this whole place off the map.”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Grace scolds, though he may not be wrong.

“We’re gonna find out what happened,” the Doctor reassures them. “And how to make it stop. And that hall looks like the best place to start.”

“Not the only place,” Grace says. “I want to find that poor girl.”

“Me too,” Yaz nods. “She just lost her gran, I’m worried about her.”

“We’ll deal with Her Ladyship, if you go do some family liaison,” the Doctor says. “I’ll meet you in a bit. Hopefully by then I’ll be a bit dry.”

Yaz and Grace set off back the way they came, while the rest of them continue onward up the hill.

Inside, there’s a fire blazing in the hearth that the Doctor quickly takes advantage of. She strips out of her coat again, slinging it over a chair, and basks in the warmth. By now her hair has begun to dry, curling slightly as it does, but her clothes are still unpleasantly damp.

“I hope the fire has warmed you,” Becca says. “Some wine?”

She tries her best not to make a face. “No. So, your witch trials have become a weekly event, with a village celebration.”

“Any moment where a witch is uncovered and Satan driven out, has to be cause for a celebration,” Becca replies. “We will not stop until that work is done.”

“You keep saying Satan, but how is Satan manifesting himself here?” the Doctor asks.

“Blighting the crops. Bewitching animals. Plaguing people with fits, sickness, visions,” she lists off.

“If all that’s Satan,” Ryan says, “where do the witches come in to it?”

“They are in league with him!” Becca insists. “Kill the witches, defeat Satan. And as King James has written in his new Bible, thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

“In the Old Testament,” the Doctor points out. “There’s a twist in the sequel. Love thy neighbor. Which is why we’ve come. To help you fix your problems without killing anyone. That’s what King James would want.”

The door opens with a heavy thud, and a dark-dressed figure wearing a plague doctor-like mask enters the room. In her periphery, the Doctor sees the Master’s hand move to his coat pocket as the figure removes their cape and hat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Becca demands.

“Madam, I have come to your rescue!” they announce. With a flourish that reminds the Doctor of far too many of the Master’s disguises, they pull off their mask, revealing -

“King James!” Becca drops into a low curtsy. “Your majesty.”

The Doctor exchanges wide-eyed looks with her companions, who look equally shocked. The appreciative look in the Master’s eye has her very, very concerned. He seems to have been taking mental notes on the entrance.

“You may prostrate yourselves before me,” the King announces, as though it were a given. “God’s chosen ruler and Satan’s greatest foe, come to vanquish the scourge of witchcraft across the land. Forgive the mask, I have enemies everywhere and have to travel incognito. Also,” he glances to Madam Savage, “I rather like the drama.”

Becca giggles like a schoolgirl.

“What a peculiar rag-bag of folks. And those garments!” he says scornfully. “Are you actors?”

“We’re your witchfinders, sire,” the Doctor manages after a moment of baffled silence. She fumbles for the psychic paper in her trouser pockets, then shows it to him. “As we explained to Mistress Savage.”

“Witchfinder’s Assistant,” he reads, and she snatches the paper back to glare at it in betrayal. The King turns to Graham. “So, you must be the Witchfinder General.”

Graham looks startled at the mere suggestion. The Master has lost his delight at the drama of the King’s entrance in favor of offense on her behalf.

“ _No killing King James,_ ” she warns him. He rolls his eyes.

“She said _she_ was,” Becca protests.

King James bursts out laughing. “A woman could never be the General!”

“Silly me, must’ve gotten all confused,” the Doctor says, though the words pain her. “Musn’t I, boss?”

It takes Graham a moment to catch on. “Uh, yeah, that’s me, sire! Um, Northwest division, promoted from Essex.”

“And these are your underlings?” the King asks, glancing around.

Seeing the matching looks of deep annoyance on both the Master and the Doctor’s faces, Graham says, “It’s a very flat team structure. We all have our area of expertise.”

“Even the wee lassie?”

It takes the Doctor a moment to realize that’s referring to her, and even less time to decide that she hates it.

“ _Are you sure I can’t kill him, just a little?_ ” the Master asks.

“Yes,” she says, then forces false cheer into her voice. “Even me! Very handy undercover. Set a woman to catch a woman.”

“A cunning ruse, using your innate aptitude for nosiness and gossip.” The King nods approvingly, and she resists the urge to scream. “And what is your field of expertise, my Nubian prince?”

Ryan gapes, clearly having no idea how to respond. The Doctor doesn’t blame him.

“Torture?”

The Master perks up at that. “That is actually _my_ primary job, sire,” he says.

“Ah, I see,” King James nods. “Are you skilled?”

“Oh, yes,” he agrees, smiling like a shark.

“Wonderful! As it should be.” The King turns back to Ryan. “And you?”

“Yeah, I uh, I mostly do paperwork, your Majesty,” says Ryan.

“Paper, how _fascinating!_ ” the King smiles. “We should talk.”

He turns to face Becca again and says, “But first, Madam, word has reached me of your battle against Satan, your _crusade_ against witchcraft. But what I saw today convinced me that you need assistance.”

“That’s what we’ve just been saying!” the Doctor chimes in, eager to get back on track.

“Hold your tongue, lassie!” King James says, holding out a hand to stall her. “Stick to snooping and leave the strategy to your king. This is no time for the weak. Satan _preys_ on the innocent even while they sleep.” He looks at Becca. “Together, we must purify your land. Starting with the grandchild of the witch you tried today. A fine plan, is it not?”

“A genius plan, your Majesty,” she agrees. “Together we shall save the souls of my people from Satan. Even if it means killing them all.”

The Doctor feels a shiver run down her spine, and she’s fairly certain it’s not from the chill of the water.

Mistress Savage and King James are so distracted by their plotting that it’s fairly easy for the Doctor and her companions to slip away and look around, once Graham gives some vague excuse about learning the base of operations.

“Becca wasn’t kidding,” the Doctor says as she heads up the stairs. “These are hard times for women. If we’re not being drowned, we’re being patronized to death!”

“Believe me, I know,” the Master sighs. “And you’re too nice to just maim them when they do. Oh, there’s an idea, I could maim him for you! It won’t kill him.”

The Doctor ignores the second part of his response in favor of looking into the rooms. After sticking her head in a couple, she finds the one she’s looking for.

“Becca’s bedroom,” she says. “In here, quick.”

“We are going to help them though, right, Doc?” Graham asks. “Otherwise, this place won’t exist by the morning. Not now that those two’ve hit it off. I don’t know which one of them’s more barking.”

The Doctor flips open the book on Becca’s bedside table, glancing at the title page. It’s a copy of King James’ own _Daemonologie_ , which doesn’t come as much of a surprise. It’s not nearly as bizarre as the pile of handkerchiefs stacked on another table.

“A dozen hankies,” she mutters. “That’s a lot.”

“Maybe she cries herself to sleep,” Ryan offers.

“Maybe,” she agrees. “Don’t worry, Graham. We’re staying here and sorting it, even if I am just a woman.”

“Well, to be fair to King James, you are snooping,” Graham points out as she ducks into the bathroom. 

“I’m investigating!” She takes a whiff of one of the bottles - medicine of some sort, though it’s empty now - and then recorks it.

“Hey, missed a bit!” Ryan calls from the main room.

“Oh, that is interesting,” the Master says. “Wonder why she has that?”

Concerned by what he could have found and deemed interesting, she steps out of the bathroom again to see Ryan standing by the bed, hefting a sharp-looking axe in his hands. Before she can tell him to put it down, or at least stop holding it like he actually intends to use it, the door to the bedroom opens with a creak.


	44. Insecuri-tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologize for the pun, but I feel no shame. It's a good pun.

The door swings open, and the four of them inside flinch backwards. Ryan raises the axe in his hands, and the Master moves closer to the Doctor, his sonic in hand. Yaz steps through the doorway first, followed closely behind by Grace. Ryan lowers the axe, and the Master, somewhat more reluctantly, puts his sonic away.

“Here you are!” Yaz gasps, sounding out of breath. “We’ve been creeping ‘round this place looking for you!”

“We found Willa burying her gran, doing some sort of ritual,” Grace begins.

“Then this, this mud tendril thing attacked her!” exclaims Yaz.

“Mud tendril?” the Doctor asks. She quickly glances over the two of them, making sure they’re alright. No obvious injuries; at least there’s that.

“Coming up out of the ground!” Yaz nods.

“We smashed it to bits,” Grace says. “Got some on us, though.”

She looks closer at the pair’s clothing, and sure enough, they’re both splattered with mud from the waist down. Surprisingly little mud, given the circumstances, but a decent amount.

“Just the one mud tendril? How big?” the Doctor asks, pulling her sonic out of her pocket. Grace moves her hands about a foot apart. “And when you say ritual, do you mean like a spell, like she conjured it up?”

“She was scared of it,” Yaz says, shaking her head. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.”

After a quick scan, the Doctor glances at the readings. “Just seems to be like good, old-fashioned Lancashire mud,” she notes. “Here’s the plan. Me and both of you, we need to check out that mud and talk to Willa. You three, stick with Becca and King James. Make sure they don’t kill anyone else."

She pauses, looks at the Master, and adds, “And don’t kill King James, either. We need him alive.”

He makes a face at that and sighs. “Fine. It would be so much quicker, though.”

“Think of this as a test,” she suggests.

“Oh, yes, we all know how well the last one of _those_ went,” he mutters.

The Doctor tries her best not to grimace. She had really been hoping he wasn’t going to bring that up. Before he can say anything else, she heads towards the door.

“King James?” Yaz asks.

“It’s a long story,” the Doctor says. “I’ll explain on the way. Remember, no more witch hunts, and _no hurting King James_.”

As they head back to the village, the Doctor gives Yaz and Grace a quick rundown of what they had missed - King James is here, he’s making things worse, and now there’s a good chance the whole village is at risk of being destroyed in a religious fervor. Graham, Ryan, and the Master were staying behind to run damage control, but the quicker they found Willa and figured out what was going on, the better.

Willa’s easy enough to find once they reach the main village. She’s leaving a small cottage near the outskirts of the town, holding a bundle of cloth in one arm. Their presence seems to startle her slightly, and she jumps when she spots them.

“Willa?” Yaz calls. “My name’s Yaz, this is Grace and the Doctor. Where’re you going?”

“As far away from here as I can,” Willa says, looking down.

“Don’t blame you,” says the Doctor. “But before you do, can we talk to you first?”

Willa gives her a distrustful look, and it takes her a moment to realize why.

“We aren’t witchfinders, love,” Grace reassures her. “Just want to find out what’s happening, and then help stop it.”

“Can you help us, Willa?” Yaz asks. “Because we want to help you.”

Despite the collective efforts of the three of them, the Master, Graham, and Ryan only manage to stall King James for perhaps ten minutes. The Master toys with the idea of just hypnotizing the man into staying put for however long it takes the Doctor to investigate the mud, but he has a sneaking suspicion that would count as cheating, and would upset her. She gets so _picky_ about things like not causing irreparable psychic damage to important historic figures sometimes.

Still, at least there’s some entertainment to be had from not forcing the King into compliance. The sheer discomfort radiating off of Ryan is _delightful_. And even though the Master may want to invert the man’s internal organs, he must admit the King has a wonderful sense for the dramatic. Not as good as his own, of course, because he’s fairly certain nothing can top dying in your nemesis’ arms out of spite, but impressive nonetheless.

He hangs back while they walk through the woods; Graham is talking with Becca Savage, and Ryan seems to have been forced into another unwanted conversation with King James. He’s content to be by himself, at least for now, turning over the various ways he could severely injure the King and Becca in his mind. Not that he will, of course, because that would make the Doctor angry, and not in the fun way. Though, really, he doesn’t understand why she won’t let him.

Missy had never been one to tolerate the sexist nonsense of the human race, though she did love to play into their preconceived notions of how harmless she looked. The Doctor, however, doesn’t seem to have processed the concept at all, at least not until it became inconvenient to her. Now, of course, she spits and snarls at the men who underestimate her and proves them wrong with a sharp grin. There is a certain appeal to that, the Master will admit, but he’s always found it easier to just kill them. Still, he supposes, if he killed every person that underestimated the Doctor he would have to obliterate the universe entirely.

So instead, he stays several feet behind the humans and ponders new and exciting ways to kill them.

Inside Willa’s cottage, herbs and berries and bottles and crystals fill the space, hanging from every wall and spread out on every flat surface except the bed. The few candles burning give the room a warmer glow than the cold autumn sunlight, making it feel like the first truly welcoming place since they left the TARDIS. The Doctor can’t help but inspect the various jars and plants, noting that almost all of them seem medicinal, not magical.

“Wow, these all yours?” she asks, the awe in her voice genuine.

“They were my grandmother’s,” Willa replies. “She made medicines to help people. She wasn’t a witch. Everyone knows that.”

“So why did Becca Savage target her?” asks Yaz.

“Maybe she was ashamed of the woman who brought her up,” she says.

That grabs the Doctor’s attention away from the bottles lining one wall. “Wait, you and Becca are family?”

“Cousins,” Willa says. “We were all close, ‘til Becca married up. Left us all behind. Still, thought we’d be safe when the witch hunts started. Then it just got worse and worse, everyone turned on each other. Granny said it was only a matter of time ‘fore they turned on us.” She pauses, presses her lips together into a sad smile. “I didn’t believe her.”

Willa busies herself with something in the hearth for a moment, then draws back with a kettle of hot water. She pours the water into three earthenware cups, adds a small pinch of something from one of the many jars, and offers the cups to each of them.

“Here,” she says. “Granny’s special tea. It soothes the soul. Unless you think I’m a witch.”

The Doctor takes the cup and inhales the steam rising from it - chamomile, lavender, and a bit of mint, if she’s not mistaken. Though the plants won’t have much effect on her, she takes a sip. Willa seems like she needs people to trust her right now.

“Are you not having any?” she asks.

“I feel too sick,” Willa sighs.

It’s probably nothing more than tumultuous emotions and stress, but the Doctor can’t help but worry that it’s something worse. Whatever those mud tendrils they had encountered were, they might have done something to the girl, and she’d rather know now than later. After placing the cup of tea on a small clear patch of table, she pulls out her sonic.

“Do you mind if I check you over? Don’t worry, I am a doctor,” she says, not waiting for a reply before she starts scanning.

Willa looks at the sonic with a measure of concern. “What’s that?”

“Specialist equipment,” the Doctor deflects. Actually explaining will take too long and make her sound very suspicious indeed.

“That movement in the mud, that was Satan, wasn’t it?” Willa asks, desperate for some sort of answer.

Sadly, the scan on the sonic didn’t give many. Leaning down, she starts scanning Willa’s shoes instead, where there’s splotches of mud. Perhaps that will yield some proper results.

“Doubt it,” the Doctor says. “Not a big believer in Satan.”

Over the centuries, she’s met too many creatures claiming to be gods or worse to believe in them the same way humans tend to. They may exist, that she’s sure of, but their power lies more often in the fear they inspire than in any divinity or absence thereof. The thing behind this, what or whoever it may be, is not Satan.

“My granny used to say there’s enough wonder in nature without making things up,” Willa smiles.

“I like your granny.” The Doctor glances down at the sonic, which is still irritatingly _average_. “Completely normal. No magic, and no signs of any sickness.”

Willa shakes her head. “You’re wrong.”

“I think I know what’s making you sick,” Yaz says slowly. “I had it. At my school where I’m from. When Izzy Flint turned the whole class against me. Every day I’d wake up, feeling this dread… fear.”

“How did you get rid of it?” Willa asks.

“It’s not the kind of thing you get rid of that easily,” Grace says. “You learn to live with it, and you do your best to get away from the cause of it, and you come out the other side stronger than you were at the beginning. It isn’t pleasant, and it isn’t worth the pain, but if you find some friends and stay strong, you can survive it.”

Yaz looks at Grace, a little shocked, and Grace smiles. The Doctor isn’t surprised; nobody ends up that kind without deliberate effort, and more often than not it stems from an urge to never do unto others what was done to you. Grace chose to travel with her for a reason, and it wasn’t just because she wanted to see the universe.

“I don’t have any friends, not anymore. Not with Becca about to try me for a witch if I do anything.” Willa looks on the verge of tears again. “What am I meant to do?”

“Seems to me like you have two choices,” the Doctor says. “Run, as far away from here as possible, or stick with us. Your friends. We’ll stand up to Becca Savage and we’ll make this place safe again.”

“How do we do that?” Willa asks.

The Doctor grins, and Willa does the same. “Ha, ‘we’! That’s good, Willa! See, feels better already.” She can feel a plan brewing. “Now, first things first, I need to get a sample of that mud.” On the table sits an empty glass vial - just the thing she’s looking for. “Ooh! Can I use this?”

Willa nods. There’s a look in her eyes, determination overriding fear, and it’s the kind of look the Doctor knows well.

“Want to come with us?” she offers, knowing what the answer will be in the end.

“Not really,” Willa says with a deprecating smile. She does anyway.


	45. A Sticky Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting to the meat of this episode! Well, not so much meat as mud, but at some point during writing this arc mud stopped looking like a real word to me, so... anyways, enjoy!

The mud is disappointing, to say the least. There’s a lot of it, yes, but aside from that, there’s nothing particularly special about it. Boring brown dirt, soaked with rain that’s threatening to fall again even now.

“Just mud,” the Doctor sighs. “No sign of any tendency to tendril. Shouldn’t be disappointed, but I am, a bit.”

Still, just to be sure, she sonics it again, hoping there will be some sort of change. There isn’t.

“What was that ritual you were doing before the tendril arrived?” Yaz asks Willa, sitting slightly off to the side on the cart.

“Prayer,” Willa says. “To help my grandmother rest in peace. I brought her body here, I dug that grave, and placed her in it. But I didn’t get to finish the prayer.”

“You could finish it now,” Grace offers.

Willa considers it for a moment. “Yes.”

“Right, little sample. What aren’t you telling me?” The Doctor scoops a small amount of the mud into the vial and looks at it, as though now that it’s contained it might do something interesting. And then, to her shock, it does. The mud begins to move, bouncing off the sides of the vial with unexpected force. “Whoa! I am no longer disappointed!”

Yaz leaps to her feet. “See! The mud is alive!”

“Well now I’m not sure it’s mud at all,” she mutters.

“Looks pretty angry in there,” Yaz notes.

“Obviously it doesn’t like being trapped, do you?” the Doctor asks, looking closer at the maybe-mud. “What _are_ you? Give us a clue.”

She hears Willa speak, though her mind’s too busy with the mud(?) to actually hear the words. Some sort of question, she thinks. Maybe.

“I think this is some kind of alien matter, but I’m not sure if it’s sentient,” she continues.

“Doctor!” Grace says sharply, jolting her out of her musings.

“What?” she demands, turning. And then she sees the thing standing mere yards away, though standing is perhaps a bit generous for the way it’s hunched over. It’s humanoid, and might even have been a human at some point, though it certainly isn’t any more. The face is drooped in a ghastly expression, like a melted wax replica, the skin greying and _wrong_. Worst of all, it’s very, very familiar.

“Granny!” Willa cries.

The Doctor shakes her head. “That’s not your granny, Willa.”

“Yes, it is!” the girl protests.

Quickly, the Doctor moves in front of the humans. “No, that’s the not-mud. Some sort of alien matter, filling her body and reanimating it. So it is pretty sentient.” It occurs to her that this might not be the most reassuring thing to hear, and she says, “I’m so sorry, Willa.” Then she turns back to the mud creature and takes a step forward. “Hi, not-Willa’s granny. I presume you’re just using the body to give whatever you are form. Better than tendrils, right? But really not right. Not cool!”

“Is that why it tried to attack Willa?” Grace asks.

“Of course! Not to kill her, but to fill her. Ooh, check out my rhymes, poetry under pressure!” It’s not meant to be blithe, but she just couldn’t help herself.

The mud creature makes a horrid gurgling noise that quickly draws her attention again.

“What are you doing?” the Doctor asks, eyes narrowing. The creature reaches out one greying hand towards the vial of not-mud. “You want this. One of you, is it? Or part of you.”

It lunges forward, grasping with its outstretched hand, and she takes a step back. If the thing wants it this badly, maybe it’s better if she keeps the sample. Maybe it can serve as a bargaining chip, at the very least.

“Oh, nonono, not until you tell me what’s going on here,” she says, holding the vial away from the thing.

Though it doesn’t move closer, it reaches out its other hand, and the Doctor takes a good look at them. Just beneath the skin she can see the mud, or whatever it is, flowing and bubbling like boiling water. The creature ripples, and she tries not to think of the virus in the water on Mars and what that had done to its hosts.

“Don’t like the look of your hands. It’s all bubbling away inside you, isn’t it?” It grabs at her again, making her lean away. “Oh no, you’re not filling me!”

The Doctor considers keeping the vial, but it doesn’t seem worth the risk. The not-mud clearly wants it back, but it won’t give any answers, and she doesn’t want to put Willa in any more danger than she’s already in now.

“If you’re that desperate for it, here, have it!”

She tosses the vial to the creature, and in one quick movement the thing shoves it into its mouth. The crunching of glass does not make the grunting noises of the creature any more pleasant as it devours the bottle.

“Delightful. Down the hatch,” the Doctor mutters. “I’ve got so many questions right now, like - did you drink that or absorb it? Are you all one big muddy mass, or separate entities, only taking the one body?”

“Doctor,” Yaz warns.

The Doctor turns to see several more mud creatures, all staring blankly at the four of them. They must have approached very quietly, or simply risen out of the earth itself, because she didn’t hear them coming. Or maybe she had just been too distracted.

“Always good to get fast answers,” she says.

Willa screams. The creatures don’t react, even as it echoes through the trees. Perhaps they can’t even hear, though that doesn’t seem quite right; they seem to have some way of understanding English, and hearing makes the most sense. As they inch closer, the Doctor quickly gestures everyone behind the cart. Though it’s not much of a barrier, it’s better than nothing.

“No, stay back, please,” she says firmly. “I’ve given you the blob, what more do you need?”

The creatures don’t reply. She wonders whether they can’t speak at all, too busy filling the bodies with mud to preserve vocal cords, or if they’re just choosing not to reply. Either way, it’s not very helpful.

“So annoying when they’re silent,” she mutters.

Then, with almost impressively terrible timing, King James comes running into the clearing shouting, “Witchcraft!” at the top of his lungs. As if things couldn’t get worse. On the bright side, all of his limbs are attached, so the Master must have behaved himself.

“ _So much for keeping that lot at the house,_ ” the Doctor thinks pointedly.

“ _Sorry, love, I figured you would have been more upset if I’d made him stay,_ ” the Master replies, thoroughly unashamed. “ _See you found your mud, though!_ ”

“Stay where you are!” the King orders.

“Hi, sire!” she calls. “I know it looks bad, but don’t worry, I’m all over it.”

“Willa Twiston was the witch all along!” Becca cries, pointing at the poor girl. “I knew it!”

“I’m not! This isn’t me, Becca, I swear!” Willa protests.

“She’s right. It’s not her, and it’s not witchcraft,” the Doctor says as she pulls out her sonic. “I’m working it out.”

“This is beyond you! Alfonso, shoot them!” King James demands.

One of the men draws his gun and steps forward, which is quite possibly the only thing that could have made this situation worse.

“No, Alfonso, don’t!” the Doctor shouts, but it’s too late.

The mud creatures raise their hands and the one using Mother Twiston’s body begins to speak, it’s voice as twisted and inhuman as the rest of it has become.

“ **In the air and in the earth!** ” it intones, and then a wave of force pushes the man backwards, sending him to the ground in a heap. From the unnatural stillness and the sharp angle of his neck, the man is dead the instant he hits the ground.

“Now you’ve made them angry. They’re getting stronger,” the Doctor realizes. “Everybody out of here. Get away from them, now!”

They take off into the woods, the groaning of the mud creatures following them for a little while before it fades into the distance. After a minute, the Doctor spots a clearing through the trees. She needs time to plan, time to explain the new information to the people who had missed it, time to catch her breath, so she leads everyone in with a shout of, “Through here!”

“I don’t think they’re following,” Yaz says, breathing heavily and glancing the way they came.

“If they’re not following, what are they doing?” the Doctor wonders. No matter what it is, she doubts it’s good.

“Want us to go and look?” Ryan offers.

King James looks at them in disbelief. “We escape from Satan and you wish to go directly back into battle?”

“We need to know what they’re up to,” Ryan says. “Make sure no one else is in danger.”

“I’ll go too,” Graham nods. “Keep an eye on my… underlings.”

The King nods at them, looking faint.

“I’ll stay with Willa,” the Doctor says. “Be careful!”

“ _Should I babysit?_ ” the Master asks, glancing at the humans as they prepare to leave.

She nods; better he go with them than have them go off on their own. In case of an emergency, there’s a decent chance he might help them, which is better odds than they’d have on their own if something should go awry. And besides, she’s seen the way he’s been looking at King James and Becca, like he’s considering whether the blood would be too much hassle to clean up. He makes a bit of a face, but follows the humans back into the woods.

“What were those aberrations?” King James asks.

“It is the work of Satan!” Becca insists.

“It wasn’t Satan, or witches, or Willa’s granny!” the Doctor says, too exasperated to bother being polite anymore. “Those creatures were being controlled by something in the mud. Something not of this Earth. Something beyond your understanding.”

The King’s eyes widen. “Something from Hell?”

“More like from the heavens,” she replies absently. More to herself than them, she mutters, “It chose to kill Alfonso when he was a threat, but in other circumstances, it fills the bodies and uses them as vessels. I don’t know why. Maybe only when they’re dead?”

“No,” Willa says. “It attacked me, too.”

“And why today?” the Doctor wonders. “‘Cause here’s my problem. I can buy that this is the biggest ever witch hunt in England, _or_ I can buy it’s an alien mud invasion. But both, on the same day? I can’t buy that!”

“Why does the lassie speak of commerce?” King James asks.

The Doctor ignores him, because something just occurred to her. “Oh, wait. Unless they’re connected.” She turns to face Becca, who’s gone very, very pale. “Your witch hunt’s been going on a while now, so there’s no way that mud has just rocked up today. What do you know, Becca? What’s going on here in Bilehurst Crag?” Becca doesn’t reply, but that’s never stopped the Doctor before. “A woman who keeps an axe by her bed. What have you seen?”

Becca is silent for a moment, panic and fear plain as day in her eyes. Finally, she snarls, “I have seen you, with your wand, raising your kin from the dead!”

That is not how this conversation was supposed to go. Becca was supposed to be frightened and desperate, sure, that’s exactly what the Doctor had been going for, but the accusations of witchcraft were _not_ part of the plan. She flounders for a moment, utterly blindsided.

“Yes!” King James says triumphantly.

The Doctor steps back. “What? No, hold on a sec!”

“You are no witchfinder’s assistant! You are Satan’s acolyte!” Becca accuses. “And that man, you have bewitched him!”

She blinks, baffled. “Do you mean - oh, _no_. No no no, definitely not. If anything, it’s the other way ‘round, really.”

“I have seen you communing without words, and the way he looks to you for orders! Surely, that is a sign of how you have enchanted him to be your infernal servant.”

The Doctor doesn’t have a response to that. Becca is utterly incorrect in her conclusions, but using legitimate evidence. She’s briefly very grateful the Master isn’t here, because there’s a good chance he would find this situation hilarious.

“ _And_ ,” Becca continues, “that is why it’s happening today! Because you are here, as you say, to take over this village!”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she says, voice growing cold and angry. “We do not have time for this!”

King James draws a small blade and points it at her, stepping closer. “Mistress Savage is correct. It is your fault that Alfonso is dead!”

“I tried to save him!” she protests; really, she did. If he had listened…

“You saved them from being shot!” the King retorts. “You said this evil fell from the heavens. Oh yes, it fell, like your lord Lucifer!”

The Doctor, not for the first time this day, bites back the urge to scream in frustration. “Honestly, if I were still a bloke, I could get on with the job and not have to waste time defending myself!”

“Oh, you bewitch us with your alluring form and your incessant jabber,” he says, and the Doctor is suddenly much more glad the Master isn’t here to hear this, “but I knew you were unnatural from the very start! And now I see you for what you really are.”

“She was trying to save us, sire,” Willa says, voice trembling with fear.

“Thank you, Willa.” At least one person still believes her.

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken, Willa?” Becca asks. “Or are you in league with the witches, as I first suspected?”

Oh, she’s _good_. Despite everything, Willa’s just a scared child, looking for security, and she knows Becca. She may not trust her anymore, but it’s more of a connection than she has to a mysterious woman who showed up in the midst of a crisis, and Becca knows how to work with that.

“She said she wanted to help me,” Willa says, but it sounds weak and unsure.

“Who do you trust to save you?” Becca twists the proverbial knife a little deeper. “Your king? Your family? Whatever I have done, I did to save all of our souls.”

“What’s really going on, Becca?” the Doctor asks.

“Hold your tongue, or I will cut it out!” King James orders. He looks at Willa, who shrinks into herself under his gaze. “Well, tell the truth, lassie.”

There’s a long, tense pause, all eyes focused on Willa. She pales, glancing frantically between the three of them, unsure of who to trust. In the end, she goes for the safety of authority and the comfort of knowledge.

“I- I did think it was strange, when they said her name was ‘the Doctor’,” she admits.

“Like Doctor Dee. A necromancer,” King James mutters. “That seals it. Arrest the witch!”


	46. Enchantment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was probably one of my favorites to write for this arc, for... several reasons :)))

Tracking down the mud creatures is much trickier than anticipated. The few signs that they had managed to spot only led them further into the woods, back roughly towards Becca's house. It’s as they’re sneaking through the trees that the Master feels the Doctor prodding at the back of his mind.

“Stop,” he says, and doesn’t wait for the humans to listen before muttering, “Contact.”

Instantly, he feels the Doctor in his mind, her worry fading into relief. “ _Contact. I just got accused of witchcraft, and I’m pretty sure they’re going to duck in a bit. Don’t tell the humans yet, I don’t want them worrying or left alone._ ”

“ _I leave you alone for five minutes and you get yourself arrested. Honestly, love, I should have been with you, not watching the humans,_ ” he thinks, not entirely joking.

There’s a distinctly sheepish feeling from the Doctor. “ _That might have made things worse, actually, since they’re convinced I’ve bewitched you._ ”

He grins. “ _Well, you are quite enchanting._ ”

“ _Not the time!_ ” she scolds, though he gets the impression she doesn’t really mind. “ _Look, just keep the humans safe and don’t worry about me, I’ll probably be fine._ ”

The Master had approximately no intention of listening to either of those suggestions before he felt her cut their connection abruptly, but that certainly doesn’t help. It was done willingly, not because she was knocked unconscious or broken by an outside force, but with a sharpness that has him worried something is wrong.

“What was that?” Graham asks. “Why’d we stop?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, waving it off. “Just the Doctor saying she needed me to bring her her psychic paper, she forgot I still had it.”

“How?” asks Yaz.

He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t figured it out yet? That’s almost impressive. Time Lords are telepaths, though the Doctor’s always been a bit sloppy about it. We do better at close range, but, well, the two of us make a habit of being exceptions to the rules. Now, don’t stop on my account, feel free to continue searching for those creatures. I’m sure I’ll be able to use your screams to track you down again.”

Grace gives him a disapproving look, but he can’t be bothered to care. While he isn’t quite worrying - he still knows where the Doctor is, she most likely hasn’t been injured yet, and there’s still time before anything too horrible can happen - he’s too focused on the Doctor to worry about appeasing her humans. Besides, if the rest of their search goes as well as it has so far, there’s very little chance of them actually finding something dangerous.

With that thought, he leaves the humans behind. They don’t follow him; at least they have that much of a survival instinct.

The Doctor hadn’t resisted the arrest, figuring it was easier to go along with it, at least for now. Even when they’d tied her to a tree in the village, the most she had done was give the guards scornful looks. Once she was restrained, they had relaxed somewhat, only one guard keeping an eye on her. That was when she had contacted the Master, in hopes of making sure he would stay with the humans and not do anything stupid. The guard had noticed the distant look in her eyes and came to make sure she wasn’t up to anything, forcing her to cut the connection quickly.

By now, her wrists have begun to ache from the chafing of the rope they’ve used to tie her up, and she can just _tell_ her back is going to give her issues because of the position. Heaven forbid they restrain her a bit more comfortably. And, just to add insult to the injury, she’s pretty sure King James has her sonic. The universe really has something against her today.

“Comfortable, witch?” King James sneers from somewhere she can’t see. Oh, speak of the Devil, she thinks. “I do hope not.”

“Come for a visit?” She watches him as he circles around her in what she’s sure he thinks is an intimidating manner. It doesn’t work nearly as well as he’s hoping.

“I shall take my opportunity to converse with an agent of Satan,” he replies.

She sighs. “If I was Satan’s agent, do you seriously think a bit of rope would stop me?” Glancing upwards, she amends, “I say a bit, quite a lot. Tightly bound. ‘S pretty painful. They know how to tie a knot in this part of the world.”

“I am an expert on witchcraft, Doctor,” the King says. “But I wish to learn more. Before you die, I want answers.” He leans closer and pulls out her sonic. “Your wand, how does it work?”

It’s hardly the most impressive interrogation she’s ever heard. “Why do you want to know?”

“I wish to know all the secrets of existence.”

“Don’t we all,” she says, shaking her head. “But true knowledge has to be earned.” The Doctor watches as he fiddles with her sonic, and she sighs again. “Tell you what. I’ll trade you my wand for answers to as many questions as you want to ask.”

He laughs and leans back, placing the sonic in his pocket. “I am not a _fool_ , Doctor. I am King James, Satan’s greatest foe.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she says, just a hint of mockery in her tone. “It must be comforting, playing that role. Hiding behind a title.”

“Just as you hide behind ‘Doctor’, perhaps.” He meets her eyes, trying to stare her down. She doesn’t blink. She’s long since come to terms with her own failings, or at least she’d like to think so, and the words of one scared man are hardly going to hurt her. He’s got nothing on her own self-hatred. After a long moment, he looks away. 

“Who are you, really, behind the mask? The drama?” she asks, then glances down and catches a hint of lettering. “What does it say on your garter?”

“Honi soit qui mal y pense,” he answers. Even without the TARDIS’ help, the Doctor knows enough French to know that one.

“Evil be to him that evil thinks,” she says. The King nods with false modesty. Any pretense of a civilized conversation drops when she bares her teeth in a snarl. “You wear it like a hero, even though you’re killing, and scapegoating, and stirring up hate. And you wonder why the darkness comes back at you.”

“There is no darkness in me,” he protests, with all the desperate confidence of the deeply insecure. “I quest for goodness and knowledge, beauty and art, _all_ of God’s virtues.”

“Your own mother was scapegoated,” the Doctor says, and she watches in satisfaction as he draws back, eyes widening. “How d’you square that with your witch hunts?”

He leans in, defensive anger written clear on his face. “What do you know of my mother?”

“You could have seen her before she died, but you didn’t want to. Why?” she asks, knowing it will hurt. Perhaps it’s cruel of her to do this, to poke and prod at the man’s numerous traumas, but she can’t bring herself to care. He clearly isn’t going to trust her, and she’s done more than enough to protect him by keeping the Master away from him as much as she can. Later, she knows, she’ll feel guilty about it, but right now she almost enjoys the way he reacts to her sharp, pointed queries.

The King takes a proper step back and looks at her with disdain. “I don’t need to answer your questions, _witch_. I do not know how you know this, or what you are, but there is only one way to find out.” He turns away from her. “Guards! Summon the villagers!”

It will take some time to gather everyone, the Doctor knows, so she lets herself sag against the tree in hopes of relaxing at least a little. Her attempts are immediately ruined by the sound of a familiar voice from behind her.

“Well, it looked like you were having fun there, dear,” the Master says, walking casually around the tree until he’s standing next to her. “I do love it when you show your teeth.”

Her hearts do not speed up, because she’s annoyed at him for not listening. Maybe if she tells herself that enough, it will become true. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I told you to stay with the humans,” she reminds him.

“Yes, and I heard you,” he says. “I just chose not to listen, because you tend to overestimate your own capabilities and nearly get yourself killed. I’m quite fond of this you, and there is no way I’m letting some little humans force you to regenerate just because you’re a woman-adjacent being with opinions."

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment,” and really, she does, “but you’re a bit late now. They’re already getting people together for the trial.”

“I highly doubt a bit of rope is a match for our superior Time Lord technology.” He looks pointedly at her bound wrists and pulls out his sonic pen, the way he toys with it belying his genuine concern.

“That’s only going to make them more suspicious, and then it’ll be even harder to fix this,” she argues. “I have a plan. Don’t worry.”

More accurately, she has the rough idea of something that generally resembles a plan, but it’s close enough. The Master doesn’t need to know that.

“Do you actually have a plan, or are you just saying that so I’ll go back to keeping an eye on your companions?” he asks, far too familiar with her tactics to be fooled.

She sighs, caught. “Yes, fine, it’s not really a plan _yet_ , but it’s gonna be soon! And I need to talk to Becca Savage, she knows more than she’s letting on. Quickest way to do that right now is at the trial. You go back and stay with the others, I’ll be fine.”

The Master makes a face at that, but she can see she’s won. They trust each other enough for this, by now. “Fine. You had better not die, because I am not dealing with you all loopy and regeneration-sick again. Once was more than enough.”

“Oh, like you weren’t just as bad,” she retorts.

He shifts as though he’s about to leave, then leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to her lips, his hand warm against her cheek. The Doctor can feel herself blushing, which she _knows_ is absurd, there’s no one around and it’s just a kiss. She feels like she’s in her nineties again, hearts thrumming and nerves jangling from the slightest brush of his skin against hers. The Master grins when he steps back, and then actually leaves.

“And they think I’m the one enchanting _him_ ,” she mutters.


	47. Trial and Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witch trial time, and some... involuntary swimming.

The guards show up not long after the Master leaves, untying the Doctor and taking her to the river. They don’t seem particularly concerned that she’s going to make a run for it, though she does consider it. With the armor they’re wearing and her superior biology, she’d have a decent chance of outrunning them, but there really isn’t any point. After crossing the bridge spanning the river, Becca joins them, leading the procession. She’s clearly quite satisfied with having caught the perfect person to pin her own guilt upon.

When they reach the stretch of shore where the ducking stool sits, the Doctor can see what looks like the whole town gathered on the opposite bank. Near the front is Willa, glancing down guiltily. King James stands apart from the crowd, watching them with a nervous look. The Master is nowhere to be seen, but that’s likely for the best.

“See you’ve brought a gathering,” she comments as she’s led to the stool. “Thanks very much.”

Becca doesn’t reply, but her face tightens.

“Mind if I take off my coat?” the Doctor asks, turning to face the woman as she stands in front of the stool. “Lots in my pockets. Might stop me floating. ‘Course, as a woman, you don’t get to have pockets yet.”

She waits for an answer, but when all Becca does is regard her with disdain, she takes it as a yes and shrugs off her coat. A part of her wishes she’d given it to the Master, though that would have required getting untied. Well, this will have to do.

“A girl called Izzy Flint bullied my friend Yaz, so no one would pick on Izzy,” she says conversationally. The light tone doesn’t last long. “That’s what you’re doing. Pointing the finger at other people, so no one points it at you. But what I don’t know is, why? What are you hiding, Becca?”

That’s what finally gets a reaction from Becca, her face twisting into an ugly snarl.

“Sit. Down.” she orders. “Or would you prefer a hanging?”

That would be much harder to escape from. The Doctor sits, tossing her coat to the side, and lets one of the guards begin to chain her to the stool. She represses a shiver at the feeling of his hand on her shoulder, brief as it is; she isn’t very fond of most people touching her this time around.

Becca leans in and checks that the chains are tight. There’s a smugness to her, a certainty that would be unsettling if the Doctor wasn’t sure she had an escape route.

“Do you know why the ducking stool was invented, Doctor?” she asks as she gives an unnecessarily harsh tug to the chain. “To silence foolish women who talked too much.”

“Yeah, I did know that,” the Doctor replies. Pointing out that she’s not, technically, a woman would probably not be the best course of action. “Which is daft, ‘cause talking’s brilliant. Like if you talk to me now, I can help. You’ve ducked _thirty-six_ people already, and whatever it is has only got worse, hasn’t it?”

Becca reaches out and her hand lands on the wood of the stool. A shower of sparks flies from the point of contact, and a sharp smell, almost like ozone or hot metal, fills the air. Becca recoils quickly, but can’t hide the shock in her eyes.

“What was that?” The Doctor glances at Becca’s hand, but it seems unharmed, so she leans down to sniff at the wood. The ozone smell has faded fast, but she can still catch a hint of it. “It reacted to your touch, why?”

“I warned you to keep quiet!”

“Would you rather I ask Willa?”

“Silence!” Becca shouts. “Or I shall duck her, too.”

“Last request, I definitely get a last request,” the Doctor says quickly. Becca secures the final lock on the chains. “Lend us your hankie?”

“I don’t have one,” Becca replies. She doesn’t even check.

“There’s loads in your room. And an empty medicine bottle. What were you taking the medicine for, Becca?”

“Know this, Doctor.” The woman leans down, meeting the Doctor’s eyes. “Once I have dealt with you, I shall go after all of your friends.”

Perhaps, in another timeline - the one she keeps getting fleeting glances of, the one that somehow branches off from the tangled mess of time surrounding the Mondasian ship, the emptier and far lonelier one - the Doctor would be scared by this. Here, now, in this one, she isn’t worried. If her plan fails and she does regenerate, she trusts the Master to get everyone out of here at least somewhat safely.

Her lack of reaction seems to annoy Becca. She sneers, then draws back and walks to her podium purposefully. One guard begins ringing the bell, drawing the attention of the villagers.

“Satan has made our crops fail, bewitched our animals, and brought the sickness,” Becca proclaims. “His agent sits before you. The most evil witch in Christendom, and she would call herself the Doctor!”

The crowd erupts with jeers and booing. Clearly, they’re excited to have someone to blame, perhaps hoping that she, unlike the other victims, is truly at fault. They’re all desperate and scared, and the Doctor knows this and wants to help them; still, she can’t help the bit of anger at their complacence in these horrors. Not for her own sake, but for that of the many innocent women before her who didn’t have the advantage of her skills.

“We bring her to justice in front of our great Majesty, King James,” Becca continues, vicious delight on her face. “Give the word, sire, and we shall duck the witch and save our souls from Satan, once and for all!”

King James locks eyes with the Doctor for a moment. He seems to hesitate, perhaps considering. Then, he says, “Duck the witch.”

Immediately, the gathered villagers echo him, shouting and baying and eager for blood. The Doctor turns to look at Becca, to force the woman to look at her as she ducks her, and sees something very odd. A thin trickle of dark mud flows from Becca’s eye, almost like a tear. Though she quickly wipes it away, it’s enough to confirm the Doctor’s theory - whatever is using the bodies of the dead women has affected Becca, too, somehow.

“I was right,” the Doctor breathes.

Nearly drowned out by the cries of the crowd, she hears someone call her name. It sounds like Graham, which is a small reassurance. Obviously, she would rather them not see this in case her plan fails, but it means they’re okay, which is her primary concern. Restrained as she is, she can’t turn enough to see if the Master’s there as well, but a part of her hopes he is, if this does go wrong. If the Doctor has to regenerate so soon, it would be better to do it with him than alone.

“Guards! Duck her now!” Becca orders.

The seat begins to move, leaving the Doctor dangling over the deep waters of the river for a short moment, before it plunges her below the surface. She takes a deep breath, as quickly as she can, before she’s completely submerged.

The Master has no reason to worry, not really. He, more than anyone else, is very aware of how irritatingly resilient the Doctor is in life or death scenarios - he’s put her in so many himself, after all. This knowledge does little to soothe the nervous energy making him fidget, twirling his sonic pen in one hand while the other is shoved into his coat pocket to hide the way it's clenched into a fist. It would hardly do to let the humans see how affected he is, after all. He's spent a good amount of time training these ones to be intimidated by him, and it would be terribly embarrassing to ruin it all because he's a bit concerned for the Doctor. Not that he would admit to that. There's just something nerve-wracking about watching her disappear beneath the surface of the river and knowing he could have prevented it.

Stars, is this how the Doctor feels all the time? No wonder she's so concerned with saving people, it's a horrible feeling. Makes him want to do something foolish, like jump into the river himself to rescue her, or snap Becca Savage's neck for doing this to her. No, wait, he'd wanted to do that already. Now he just has a proper reason. Regardless, it’s awful.

If anything, the humans seem even more concerned. They’d still been wandering the forest when the Master had tracked them down and told them to follow him back to the village. Perhaps that was a mistake on his part, because now they seem borderline hysterical. It’s almost insulting that they don’t seem to think the Doctor can survive this.

“Bring her back up, now!” Graham shouts.

Ryan moves closer to King James, glaring. “What have you done?”

“We will see the result,” the King replies, not looking away from the river.

“I’m the Witchfinder General, and I am giving you an order!” Graham continues.

Becca turns from watching the ducking stool to look at them from across the river.   
  
“I obey only my king!” she snaps.

Even from the opposite bank, the Master can see something dark trickling from her left eye. He doesn’t doubt for a second that it’s mud, the same mud that had filled the corpses earlier. Well, according to the Doctor, it’s not really mud. Whatever it is, it’s directly connected to this witch hunt.

“Sire, please order her to be raised,” Ryan pleads.

“She’s not a witch!” Yaz adds. “She’s your only hope of getting out of here alive.”

“They’re witches, sire, all of them! It’s Satan testing us!” Becca cries.

Most of the Master’s focus is on the water, searching carefully for any sign of either regeneration or the Doctor’s escape, but the manic, desperate expression on Becca’s face is plain as day. She’s beginning to crack under the pressure, all that religious fervor and guilt finally too much to handle. Amateur. If one is going to break from the stress, one must do it once one’s plan is completed, not midway through. _Honestly_.

Grace turns to the King, and says, in a tone brooking no argument, “Bring her up.”

“It has been long enough,” the man agrees after a moment.

“No, it hasn’t!” Becca protests, voice shaking. “We must be _certain!_ ”

The Master knows the Doctor, and he knows her limits. It’s only been 64 seconds, and under normal circumstances he’s sure she could easily go three times that. But doing so while struggling to undo the chains - he isn’t sure whether she has her sonic or not - is a bit riskier. The rational part of him is well aware he’s put her in far worse situations, completely certain she was going to make it out alive. The part of him that’s still Koschei, that cares so deeply for the Doctor it’s almost disgusting, the part that had been so carefully nurtured when he was Missy and has only kept on growing since, is worried.

It’s utterly irrational. He can still feel their connection at the back of his mind, rekindled after their kiss, and her mental presence is unfaltering. With a bit of focus, he catches a hint of something close to glee, reveling in the challenge of the situation. At that, he relaxes somewhat.

“Bring her up now,” Graham demands. When the King doesn’t move, staring at the water, he repeats himself. “Now!”

Ryan looks at the King. “Please, your Majesty.”

“Raise the stool,” the King orders. “The trial is over.”

Becca looks betrayed and baffled, but the guards are already moving to obey. The Master knows before it even begins to rise that the Doctor has escaped - her triumph a few moments earlier had been a burst of golden light and pride in his mind. The humans lack the same advantage, and all seem shocked when the seat is empty.

“Where is she?” Grace mutters, not quite worried but edging towards it. “What happened?”

“No!” Face mud-stained and eyes wild, Becca looks frantically around for any sign of the Doctor. “ _No!_ ”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and it’s only because he’s been watching the water carefully that the Master knows where the Doctor is about to appear on the opposite bank. 

“Looking for me?” the Doctor asks, pulling herself out of the river, water dripping from her hair and thoroughly soaked.

He has to give her points for deliberately waiting to create more tension, though the inelegant way she stands half bent over on the riverbank could be better. Still, given what she had to work with, it’s a solid 8/10 entrance in his opinion.

“She truly is a powerful witch!” King James gasps.

The Master has been doing his best to ignore the man, but the King just does not stop talking. At least when the Doctor rambles, it’s entertaining, and it’s her doing it. The King does not have either of those advantages, but the Master knows killing him isn’t worth it at this point.

“No, sire, I am no witch!” the Doctor replies. “Just good at holding my breath. And getting out of chains, thanks to a very wet weekend with Houdini.”

That’s certainly news to the Master. He makes a mental note to ask her about that later, which is then promptly forgotten when she turns and smiles at him. It’s tinged with the adrenaline he knows she’s thriving off of, and he can’t stop himself from returning it for a moment.

“Hi, team!” she calls. “Gang? Fam?”

As one, her human companions shake their heads at that.

“No,” the Doctor agrees. She walks closer to the podium. “Now, Becca Savage, you mind telling me the truth?”

“She survived. She is a witch!” Becca shouts.

Something is moving in the trees, pale humanoid shapes slowly getting closer to the Doctor and Becca. The Master recognizes them as the same bodies the mud had been using earlier, though now one of them is carrying the axe that had been underneath Becca’s bed. He sends a quick warning through his connection to the Doctor. No point in her just escaping a witch trial only to die because she didn’t notice mud zombies approaching. 

“No, I’m not,” the Doctor says. “And despite all appearances -”

Yaz must have finally spotted the mud creatures, because she interrupts with a yelp of, “Doctor!”

“- neither are they,” the Doctor finishes. Becca’s eyes widen and she turns to see the gathering creatures. “You might want to come and stand with me, Becca, ‘cause it looks like they’ve come for you."


	48. Dust to Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the thing that's actually supposed to be, you know, the antagonist of this episode that we all seem to have collectively forgotten about!

The screaming begins pretty quickly once the humans on the opposite shore catch sight of the mud creatures approaching the Doctor and Becca. The woman wastes no time scrambling off her podium and next to the Doctor, her face pale with terror and streaked with the mud still leaking from her eye.

“ **I will be with you,** ” the creature that was once Mother Twiston groans. It creeps closer, the axe in its hands held high. “ **In the water, in the fire, in the air -** ”

“Stop!” Becca cries. “Just - stop.”

Much to the Doctor’s surprise, the creatures listen. The axe is lowered and one of the creatures tilts its head, almost like a dog.

“They’re obeying you,” the Doctor realizes, though that only raises more questions. “Why’re they obeying you? What happened, Becca?”

She doesn’t answer, so the Doctor continues talking.

“I thought they’d come to kill you. Which is a fair assumption, given they’re carrying an axe. But they haven’t, have they?” As if in response to her ramblings, the figures begin to stretch their hands out toward Becca, almost beckoning. Almost welcoming, even. “Of course. They’ve come to join you.”

Again, Becca doesn’t respond, though this time it’s because she’s coughing wetly into a handkerchief - which she had claimed not to have not ten minutes earlier. Mud is already leaking through the white fabric, staining it a dark off-gray.

“It’s in you, just as it’s in them,” the Doctor says. “And none of you can hide it anymore.”

The thing using Mother Twiston’s corpse takes a jerking step forward, hand still outstretched. “ **In the earth…** ”

“What happened?”

Becca finally speaks again, pulling the ruined handkerchief from her mouth. “I cut down her favorite tree.”

That’s not really the sort of answer the Doctor had been anticipating. “What? I don’t understand.”

“It was spoiling my view of the hill,” Becca continues, as though she hadn’t heard. She takes a step toward the mud creatures, then another, then turns to face the Doctor. “Something lay beneath it. I awoke Hell. Satan himself attacked me, poisoned me. That night, I felt it growing inside me. The mark of Satan. I fought it!” Her eyes are wild, and she’s bent over, gasping in each breath. “I took medicine, I prayed, but it grew. I did God’s work, in the hope that he would save me!”

“You killed people to try and save yourself!” the Doctor snaps, not an ounce of sympathy left in her for this woman.

“All these witches! All this evil!” Becca cries, pointing behind her to the mud creatures, as though appealing to some greater power, trying to prove what she did was worth it.

Unfortunately, the only one listening is the Doctor. “You knew they weren’t witches! The only thing you feared was yourself. Did your granny know what you needed the medicine for?”

“Not to start with, but then I had to tell her. I needed her help, I begged for it! For her to lance this evil out of me!” Becca’s face twists. “But she was too _weak_.”

“So you killed her by ducking,” the Doctor says, not so much a question as a confirmation of fact.

“I had to! She knew!” That’s all Becca manages before her eyes widen and she presses the handkerchief to her mouth again, breathing loudly and unevenly. “I can’t fight it anymore, Doctor!”

“You cannot fight it, because _you_ are the witch!” King James accuses.

The Doctor knew her companions were near, she could hear their footfalls as they ran, but she still recoils a little from how close the man is to her side. On her other side is the Master, and she doesn’t even realize she’s reaching for his hand until their fingers lace together.

“I have let Satan in. I have failed you, sire,” Becca gasps, flinging her arm wide. “Yes, I am the witch!”

With that, the woman sinks to her knees. The mud creatures take it as some sort of cue, moving forward again to surround Becca as she kneels in the dirt. Her face, already pale with fear, tightens in pain.

“Everyone, behind me,” the Doctor orders. With one arm, she shoves King James backwards, trusting the others to have enough common sense to listen on their own. “It’s Becca they want.”

“What’s happening to her?” Yaz demands. While the Doctor is pretty sure she knows the answer, it’s not a pretty one, and she dearly hopes she’s wrong. For all her crimes, Becca hardly deserves _that_.

“I tried to hold Satan back,” Becca whimpers. “I’m so scared. Please, forgive me.”

She doubles over for a second, and then flings her head back in a horrible scream. Mud seems to creep over her, blotches of gray expanding across her skin like mold until she’s covered entirely. The pitch of her scream changes, shifting lower and taking on a distinctly inhuman tone. The Doctor shivers, but she can’t look away from the transformation.

“What is happening?” the King asks. “She is possessed by Satan!”

“Not by Satan,” the Doctor says, still more focused on Becca than the King.

“Then by what?”

“Something not of this earth,” she breathes.

Becca’s screaming has stopped now, whatever changes wrought upon her complete. She stands upright, and her face is almost unrecognizable. A strange, lined pattern covers her now mud-stained skin, and her eyes are dark and cold. Any trace of Becca Savage is now long gone, swallowed up by the creature controlling her body.

“Who are you?” the Doctor asks.

“ **Hand me your king,** ” the creature demands, ignoring the question.

“What?” King James yelps, ducking further behind the Doctor.

“Haven’t got your own king?” The Doctor takes a step forward. “Or is he hiding?”

“ **He does not** **_hide_ ** **,** ” the creature replies, its inhuman voice full of disdain. “ **He waits. We have all waited for too long. Trapped in the hill.** ”

“Pendle Hill,” the Doctor gasps. It’s the only place that makes sense, really.

“ **Our prison,** ” the thing confirms. “ **The mighty Morax army, captured and imprisoned on this pitiful planet, for war crimes.** ”

“Pendle Hill is a prison for an alien army?” Grace says incredulously.

The Doctor nods, though her eyes don’t leave the creature using Becca’s body for a second. She’s fairly certain that the first sign of weakness will mean a slow and painful death for all of them.

“Oh, well, it’s obvious when you put it like that,” Graham mutters.

“ **Imprisoned no more. The lock was broken.** ” The creature’s eyes light up with a sickening glee.

That certainly catches the Doctor’s attention. “What lock? How was it broken?”

Once again, the creature ignores her questions. “ **Now, the Morax army shall rise again and take form! Your king shall be filled with our king, and we shall-** ”

“Not to interrupt,” the Master says, very much interrupting, “but really? That’s the best you can do? I mean, I appreciate the simplicity, but there’s no _elegance_ there. And that one’s hardly the best candidate for the glorious ruler of a new world. He’s pathetic, honestly.”

King James makes a small noise of offense, quickly muffled by what the Doctor thinks is Ryan’s hand. Not that she’s looking - her eyes are still locked on the Morax, even as she projects a sense of worry at the Master. The confidence he sends back through their bond and the way he squeezes her hand before letting go does very little to reassure her. He’s about to do something stupid, and she can only hope that it actually works.

“ **What are you implying?** ” the Morax sneers.

The Master steps forward, gesturing as he speaks. “Oh, just that you can do better. The Morax, the Morax, I know I’ve heard that name before… oh! Yes, right! The Massacre of the Berethian Moon. Wonderful work you did there, really quite impressive. So I’m certain that, for such an accomplished people, you can manage more than kidnapping a puny little human like, well, him.”

Facing twisting, the Morax snarls, “ **He is royalty! That is enough.** ”

The Master raises his eyebrows in a way that manages to convey both doubt and amusement. “But surely your king can do better, am I right? Nothing but the best for your magnificent leader.”

“ **Can you offer an alternative?** ” the Morax asks, sounding intrigued despite itself.

“I most certainly can,” he replies, grinning. “Of course, I will require a quick scan of your genome to make sure the host I have in mind is suitable. If you don’t mind, of course.”

He pulls out his sonic with a flourish, though he’s careful not to point it at the Morax until it gives a hesitant nod. Seemingly true to his word, he only runs a quick scan. As he glances down at the results, he nods approvingly.

“Well, that is just perfect!” he says cheerfully. “I was right. Means this will work, then.”

His smile turns vicious. The Morax’s brow furrows in confusion, and before the Doctor can stop him, the Master’s pointing his sonic at it again. This time, it’s most definitely not for a scan. The Morax barely has enough time to scream in fury before its face goes slack, and then the possessed bodies drop to the ground like puppets with their strings cut.

“What did you do?” the Doctor demands, turning to glare at him.

The Master rolls his eyes. “Look, dear, I saved all of us quite a bit of time. You should really be thanking me. And all I did was exploit a very impractical flaw in their psychic hive interface - it’s all well and good to be powered by a singular central source, until someone cuts the connection. If it’s any consolation, the hosts were all long dead.”

“Becca Savage wasn’t,” she retorts.

“Becca Savage tried to have you drowned,” he says, not bothering to hide his anger. “I’m so terribly sorry for not feeling very inclined to keep her alive. Now come on, love, we still need to take care of their king.”

“What kind of sorcery did you use to defeat her?” King James demands, confidence returned now that the actual threat has gone.

Yaz sighs. “It’s not sorcery, mate. He’s just really good at killing things.”

“Why thank you, Yaz, it’s nice to get some recognition around here,” the Master says politely.

“Wasn’t meant as a compliment,” Ryan mutters.

“ _Right,_ ” the Doctor says, louder than is perhaps necessary. “So, the foot soldiers are taken care of, but their king isn’t. Now, Becca mentioned cutting down a tree, and I’m willing to bet it’s the same tree that stool’s made from, and it reacted to her touch, so maybe…”

She steps gingerly over the bodies and towards the stool, dragging it around until the long arm is solidly over the ground. She reaches for her sonic, and then remembers that King James still has it. An annoyed sigh slips past her lips before she can catch herself, and she turns to ask him where it is. Before she can, the Master hands her his own.

“Oh, thank you!” she smiles. As she scans the wood, a glowing pattern shines through the bark; a sure sign of some very interesting alien technology. “Seems to be a sort of lock, meant to keep the Morax trapped. Ancient bio-mech. Broken, now, but still pretty advanced. That’s why it reacted to Becca, it was sensing the Morax infesting her!”

“How did it get broken, then?” Grace asks.

“It can’t be much of a lock if it’s so easy to break,” Graham adds.

“Well, it’s old, rusted over millions of years,” the Doctor explains. “She mentioned cutting down a tree on the hill. That must have weakened the lock enough for one of the Morax leaders to infect her, and then the soldiers could trickle out and use the dead bodies as hosts.” She walks over to the body of Mother Twiston and takes the axe. “Right, help me break it up, then.”

“Break it up?” Yaz repeats, baffled. “Why, what for?”

“We’ve got a regicide to commit,” the Master says, grinning. “Not the one I’ve been hoping for, but I suppose it will do.”


	49. Bilehurst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite happy with this chapter, and might edit it at some point later, but... here's the end of the Witchfinders arc! My classes are officially over as of yesterday, so hopefully I'll have more time to focus on my writing. So, if you're also reading Dead Memories, expect an update for that at Some Point. Also, perhaps even a new Twissy fic in the near future.

Chopping up the stool is tedious, but not very difficult, and in a matter of minutes there’s enough cut off for everyone to have a torch made from the wood. The flame it burns with is an ethereal green that almost reminds the Doctor of Greek fire. It’s hardly the best protection possible, but it’s what they have to work with, and it should at least repel the Morax. The Doctor keeps a hand-sized chunk of it to use as a sort of jump-start for the lock. If everything goes according to plan, when she touches it to the remaining wood, it should re-energize the containment and keep the Morax trapped.

It is quickly decided, despite the man’s protests, that King James is not going to be coming with them to Pendle Hill. Nobody particularly  _ wants _ to stay and make sure he doesn’t run off, but Ryan seems to have resigned himself to the job already, and for whatever reason the King doesn’t have an issue with it. Before the rest of them leave, however, the Doctor makes sure she gets her sonic screwdriver back. She’s not risking anything.

“Right then,” she says, doing a quick double check to ensure that everyone has a torch. “Everybody ready? Remember, be careful. The Morax are dangerous.”

“I’m ready.” Willa forces her way into the circle they’ve formed around the fire, a look of determination on her face and an unlit torch in hand.

The Doctor had intended for Willa to stay with Ryan and King James until the Morax were taken care of, but she isn’t very surprised to see that Willa disagrees. She’s lost two of her closest family members to the Morax. Perhaps it will do her good to help trap them more permanently.

“You don’t have to, Willa,” Grace says.

The girl shakes her head. “I want to. And besides, I’m the only one who knows the path up the hill. You need me.”

“Only if you’re sure,” the Doctor says. “Hopefully, this’ll be quick and easy, but I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I am,” Willa insists. “I promise.”

The Doctor nods, and Willa lights her torch in the fire.

“One more thing, Doc.” Graham pulls the witchfinder’s hat off and sets it on the Doctor’s head. “Morax-finder General, back in command.”

The Doctor grins. “It’s a very flat team structure.”

The trek up to the top of Pendle Hill is a slow one. Night has long since fallen, and even with the eerie light of their torches the humans have a hard time seeing through the gloom, forcing them to move cautiously. The Doctor and the Master end up at the back of the group, hands for once separated so they can hold both their torches and their sonics. It’s unlikely that any of the Morax soldiers survived, much less that they’re lurking in the trees, but there’s still a chance.

“Thank you for not leaving them in the woods,” the Doctor says quietly.

The Master shrugs. “They’re entertaining.”

She fixes him with a knowing look, which he pretends not to notice. He may hide it, but he tends to grow fond of her companions eventually. It’s almost sweet, though he tends to show it by gossiping about her with them, which is, in the Doctor’s opinion, far less than ideal. Better than killing them, certainly, but not ideal.

“It’s nice, having someone else I can,” the Doctor pauses, searching for the right words, “trust, if something goes wrong.”

The way he looks at her as she says that, his eyes wide not with surprise but something  _ else _ , something soft, makes her hearts ache. This is how it always should have been, she thinks, the two of them together across the universe. She loves her companions, all of them, but despite her comment about flat team structure, she always distances herself from them to a degree. They never know her fully, and she likes it better that way. Still, it gets lonely. The Master knows her, knows the parts she never shares with her companions for fear of scaring them off, and still stays.

“I suppose you think making me watch your pets while you’re off getting yourself arrested is an honor?” he asks, his sarcastic tone at odds with the fondness she can feel from his mind.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, obviously.”

He laughs at that, quiet but sincere. Lit by ghostly green flames and the small amount of moonlight from between the trees, the sight almost reminds the Doctor of the night after they’d regenerated. A different forest and a very different cause for going there, but similar enough to make her fond.

The top of Pendle Hill, when they finally reach it, is almost entirely bare. A large, jagged stump sticks out of the earth - clearly the remains of the tree. Even if it weren’t the only thing that could be the lock, the twisting, muddy ground around it would be a good indicator.

Unfazed, the Doctor continues past Willa and her companions - who have stopped in their tracks, watching the mud writhe - and towards the remnants of the tree. The mud grabs at her boots as she walks, slowing her progress. Behind her, the Master makes a noise of disgust at the way it’s likely ruining his shoes, as if he can’t just get another pair. They’re too close to the source of the Morax’s psychic interface for the Master’s trick with his sonic to work again, but she can see that he has it out regardless.

It’s only when she gets within a meter or so of the stump that the mud becomes more active. A long, snaking tendril rises from the ground, forming something that might be a face at the end of it. It twists around her, and she feels the mud creeping up her legs.

“Now, I was going to give a nice speech about how I could give you a second chance,” the Doctor says, cold and unforgiving and low enough her companions can’t hear. “But I’ve had a very long day, and you don’t seem like you’re going to listen. So instead, I’m going to give you a choice. My friend here is pretty eager to just kill you all, but I’m willing to let you live. It won’t be pleasant, but it’ll be something. Take your pick, Morax.”

The mud retreats from her legs so quickly it would almost be comical, if it were any other situation. In this state, lacking a host, the king can’t speak, but the tendril bobs up and down twice.

“Imprisonment, then?” she asks.

Another nod from the tendril.

The Doctor turns to the Master, who doesn’t look nearly as disappointed as she’d expected, and hands him her torch. It takes a bit of digging in her pockets to get the piece of wood she had reactivated, but she quickly pulls it out. One touch to the stump should be all it takes.

She steps closer to the tree, ready to put her plan into action. Her hand is outstretched, almost touching the wood, when the mud surges around her and drags her backwards, down into its embrace. Before she can even shout in surprise, it fills her mouth and nose. Only her respiratory bypass keeps her from panicking about running out of air, but the choking sensation is horribly claustrophobic even with it.

Her mind fills with a fury that isn’t hers, bright enough to burn, and then just as quickly as it attacked, the Morax-filled mud is gone. Spluttering and coughing, the Doctor sits up as fast as she can. The Master is crouched in front of her, and as soon as she’s somewhat upright, he relaxes. He wraps one arm around her in a hug, his other hand cradles the back of her head. The Doctor is fairly certain he’s tracing Gallifreyan onto her back.

“ _ What did you do? _ ” Her mouth is still too full of mud for speech to feel possible, but she needs to know.

“ _ Repurposed the locking technology to destroy them. All of them, _ ” he replies, anger still clinging to the edges of his thoughts. “ _ You’re an idiot. _ ”

“ _ Trust me, I know, _ ” she thinks.

Their peace is broken moments later by the frantic chatter of the humans, wanting to know what happened, is she okay, are the Morax gone? With the Master’s help, the Doctor manages to stand, and begins answering their questions. Well, first, she coughs up a good bit more mud, but  _ then _ she answers the questions.

“I’m fine, really, don’t worry. Pretty sure they thought they could kill me like that, stop me from trapping them. They were wrong, obviously. The Master took care of it.” She neglects to explain how he did so, but she’s pretty sure they have a fairly good idea. “Now, let’s get Ryan and get going. I need a wash.”

It somehow takes even longer to go down Pendle Hill than it did to go up, and the sudden downpour of rain only makes it worse. The Master stops any time the Doctor coughs, and Grace insists on waiting once she’s done to make sure she’s ready to walk again. It’s more than a little frustrating, and the Doctor’s fairly sure that once they’re back on the TARDIS she’ll be getting a similar treatment to when she had destabilized her ectospleen.

Ryan and King James are, shockingly, in the same place that they’d been when the rest of them had set off several hours ago. 

“What happened?” Ryan asks. “Are the Morax gone?"

“Yep!” the Doctor says, before anyone can mention anything else. “All taken care of. Good to go. Well, I say that, first I want to have a chat with you, King James.”

The man’s eyes widen, but he nods.

“You lot, head back to the TARDIS, I’ll be right there,” she says. When she sees the dubious looks Grace and Graham are giving her, she adds, “Really! Promise.”

It doesn’t seem to have done much in the way of persuading them, but her companions go. Yaz gives Willa a hug as she leaves, saying something to the girl that the Doctor can’t hear. The Master stays, but she had expected that. King James flinches a little when she steps toward him.

“Now, your Majesty, we’ve taken care of the closest thing to witches you’re ever likely to encounter. So, your witch hunts are going to stop. No more killing innocent women, understood?” She keeps her voice level and firm, too tired now to threaten the King properly.

“Yes,” the King replies. “And I will make sure not a word of this is ever spoken. Even the name Bilehurst shall be erased from all records.”

“Good!” she says. She turns to Willa, still hovering nervously by the sizzling embers of the fire from before. “What about you, Willa? You going to be alright?”

The girl nods. “Think I will. I’ll find a new home, take Granny’s potions, and be a healer. Be a doctor.”

“Willa Twiston, you’ll make a wonderful doctor,” the Doctor smiles.

The Doctor is quick to take her companions back to Sheffield once she’s back in the TARDIS. All their fretting is making her antsy. Grace makes her promise that she’ll rest before she picks them up again, and Yaz keeps shooting her worried glances when she thinks the Doctor isn’t looking.

After dropping them off, promising to take them to Elizabeth I’s coronation for real the next time, and sending the TARDIS into the Vortex, the Doctor finds herself pulled into the medbay by the Master. Following a completely unnecessary - in her opinion - checkup, she takes a shower and then makes her way to her workshop to tinker for a few hours. Or, at least, that was her plan.

The Master is sitting on a chair the Doctor is fairly sure he stole from the dining room, directly in front of the door to her workshop. He’s making a show of reading a book, but given how quickly he looks up at her, she highly doubts he was very interested in it.

“Am I not allowed to go to rooms in my own ship now?” she sighs.

“Not until you rest,” he says. “And no, a nap on the library couch does not count.”

“I swear, I’ve never gotten more sleep than I do now that you’re here,” she complains. “You do know we don’t need more than 16 hours a week.”

He raises an eyebrow. “At a bare minimum, Doctor.”

The Doctor knows when she’s beaten. The TARDIS has been pressing her to sleep as well, and she is perhaps a bit tired. Still, turning to find the door to her bedroom right in front of her is a little annoying.

Halfway through the door, she turns and looks at the Master. He’s still seated, pretending to read and watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“You haven’t been getting much sleep yourself,” she points out.

“My dear Doctor, are you asking to cuddle?” he asks, a delighted grin on his face.

She doesn’t answer - he knows that she was, and she knows he’s going to say yes. So, she leaves the door to her bedroom open. A few minutes later, he’s in bed with her, his hearts beating in time with her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending this with some fluff, because what I have so far for the next interlude is,, very not fluffy. Sorry in advance!


	50. Interlude: Fisticuffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and anger ahead! Sorry...
> 
> Also, I will be taking a week off from this fic to work on other projects. So, the next update will be on the 31st. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning this fic, I just need a little break.

When the Doctor wakes, it’s with guilt turning in her gut. Before, in the middle of the action, she had delighted in taunting Becca and King James, in toying with them. Now, having thought about it, she only feels disgust. She’s supposed to be _kind_ , caring, a good person, and she had failed. Is failing. Will fail. Whatever tense she puts it in, it rings true.

Her limbs are still tangled with the Master’s, but with careful, slow movements she manages to extract herself and creep out of the room. She doesn’t want to be around anyone right now, not even him. He would reassure her, yes, but not the way she wants. So, instead, she makes her way to her workshop and asks the TARDIS, very politely, to hide the room from the Master for a while. The ship seems reluctant, but does so.

She wastes enough time in there that she isn’t entirely sure how long it’s been. That’s usually the sign that she should stop, take a break, go find an adventure or rebellion or crisis to stick her nose into. Instead, she puts on loud music to drown out her thoughts, and begins a new and complicated project. That lasts her a few more hours, before the TARDIS must have finally gotten sick of her wallowing, because the Master comes in. He casts a disdainful look over the scattered materials and half-completed projects.

“Is this where you’ve been the past 28 hours?” he asks. “No, don’t answer that, I know it is. And I’m pretty sure I know why, too.”

“Oh, yes, because you know everything, of course,” she mutters. She hadn’t meant for it to be quite so harsh, but she’s not in the mood to talk.

“You’re mad at me for getting rid of the Morax, so you’re ignoring me,” he says, not acknowledging her comment. “Very mature, Doctor.”

He’s not entirely wrong. The fact that she’d let him do that is one of the many, many mistakes grating at her mind, but most of them are her fault, not his. Still, since he’d brought it up...

“You didn’t need to kill them,” the Doctor says, quiet but reproachful.

The Master sighs. “Need I remind you, love, that I am here willingly? And that I have been making quite a bit of an effort to adhere to your ideas of morality? Again, _willingly_.”

“Yes, I know,” she says. “Just…”

“Just _what_ , Doctor?” he asks, sneering. “Just that you wish I was more like your little pets, constantly reminding you of your code of honor? Or that I was doing precisely what you wanted to do, and you’re just too much of a coward to admit it?”

She ignores the far too accurate question and drops physical speech. “ _You’ve been making progress!_ ”

A complicated mess of emotions hits her from across their bond; annoyance, anger, something almost like regret. “ _I haven’t exactly needed to get your attention._ ”

The Doctor isn’t sure how to respond, still trying to process. Naturally, the Master takes her silence the wrong way.

“ _Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know that’s what all of my plans were,_ ” he seethes, the feeling of his mind against hers going sharp and brittle. “ _Do you really think I couldn’t have avoided drawing your attention if I wanted to? I’m not an idiot, Doctor, and neither are you. The universe is much bigger than wherever you happen to be._ ”

“ _I didn’t say that!_ ” she protests.

He laughs, cold and cruel. “ _You didn’t need to. I’ll just leave you alone, then, Doctor. Clearly, you don’t me hanging around while you feel guilty for not stopping me._ ”

Before she can say anything, he shuts off his mind from hers with a force of will that leaves her reeling. The door to her workshop slams shut, and she’s left alone to drown in regret again.

How dare she. How _dare_ she. How dare she do this to him, _again?_ Treating him like one of her projects piled high in her workshop, gathering dust as soon as she finishes fixing them. He’d genuinely thought that, after Missy, after everything, she’d learned to be happy with him without meddling. It had lasted for a bit, this strange too-close truce of theirs. And then she has the _gall_ to act as though she’s better than him, somehow above the rage and blood and hate that he knows she holds in her. As though he’s her responsibility to fix, to turn into someone more like who she pretends to be.

Maybe she really is better, _special_ somehow. He loathes the thought, but something about it seems right. She’s always gotten away with everything, always kept on going so effortlessly while he struggles to keep up. He’s often compared her in his mind to a star, and that leaves him the orbiting body, trapped in the gravity of something greater than himself and incapable of getting closer without being destroyed. It’s a dismal metaphor, but an accurate one.

His angry steps lead him to Georg’s room after a bit, and he spends an hour or so staring at the webs the spider has woven across the room, losing himself in the details. It does less than he had hoped to push the anger from his mind. He needs to do something, hurt something, but with the TARDIS in the Vortex and the Doctor in her workshop doing her best to avoid him, he doesn’t have many options.

Well, perhaps he has one.

The door to the Doctor’s workshop opens without a noise, but she can hear the Master’s footsteps on the concrete floor. She turns, readying herself for another argument, and instead finds him standing near the door, arms crossed.

“What do you want?” she asks, keeping her tone as level as she can manage.

“A wager,” he says. “You win, I spend the next little adventure acting like the perfect companion, like one of your humans.” He sneers the last word like it’s a vile, repulsive thing. “I win, and you let me lead instead. Deal?”

She wants to say that that’s absurd, that she doesn’t want just another companion, she wants _him_ , but something in his eyes stops her. It’s the same anger edged with self-hatred that’s been filling her throat all day, and she can’t help the urge to let it loose. The urge to just do something risky and dumb and relatively consequence-free, take her feelings out on the Master and worry about the aftermath when she has to face it. So, instead of doing the responsible thing and talking, she nods.

“What kind of wager?” She’s certain it won’t be peaceful, but she’d like to prepare for whatever fight he’s going to start.

He grins, not allowing her even that small knowledge. “You’ll see. Meet me in the armory in five minutes.”

With that, he sweeps back out of the room. The Doctor hurries to put away her tools in something resembling an organized fashion, then spends a minute debating whether it’s worth it, before she decides that it can’t be any worse than wallowing.

The TARDIS has obligingly moved the armory only a few meters down the hall from her workshop, which means the Doctor has time for another crisis before the five minutes are up. Still, she opens the door precisely as the last second ticks by, despite her misgivings.

Inside, the Master is testing the weight of a dagger with a considering air that would worry her, if not for the circumstances. He turns to face her as she steps inside and grins.

“Oh, wonderful, you didn’t decide to back out,” he says. “I’ll let you pick, swords or knives?”

“Knives,” she replies, after a moment’s consideration. As nostalgic as a sword fight would be, it involves too much pomp and ceremony for how eager she is to fight dirty. With knives, resorting to more vicious methods will feel less wrong.

The Master doesn’t blink, just grabs a second dagger from the rack and hands it to her. They don’t need to discuss rules - nothing bad enough to risk regeneration, no psychic attacks, and they go until someone admits defeat. Same as they’ve been since the first time they did this, all those centuries ago.

As soon as the blade is in the Doctor’s hand, the Master lunges towards her without hesitation. She parries and readjusts her footing as she slashes at him. The blow doesn’t land; he dodges back too quickly for that.

They trade blows for a moment, fast enough the ringing of metal doesn’t stop echoing around the room until the Doctor manages to knock the Master’s dagger from his hand. Kicking it away into the corner, she forces him backwards until he’s pressed against a bare stretch of wall, her blade at his throat.

“Yield,” the Doctor orders. Not that she really expects him to, they’re both too stubborn for that, but there’s a ritual to these things.

The Master kicks her backwards hard enough she’s certain it’s going to bruise, and catches her hand as she swings it up in an attempt to retaliate. His fingers grip her wrist painfully tight, and she’s forced to drop her dagger. In a move mirroring her own, he kicks it into the corner.

She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to slam her free elbow into his stomach, roughly where a human’s solar plexus would be. They don’t have that, but it’s still a vulnerable spot, and it’s enough to make him release her other wrist.

Their duel quickly devolves into a fistfight. The Doctor is briefly grateful that her hair is fairly short, since that makes it harder for the Master to yank on it. She is less appreciative of the extra three centimeters the Master has on her; it’s a small difference, but being the shorter one throws her off even now.

After one particularly vicious blow that she’s fairly certain broke his nose, the Doctor twists the Master’s arms behind his back, presses her knee into his spine, and leans in to whisper, “ _Yield._ ”

For a moment, he continues squirming, so she digs her knee in deeper in a way she knows will hurt. Finally, he stops struggling. They’re both tired, now, bruised and battered and worn out. He knows he’s lost.

“Yes, I yield,” the Master sighs, his voice thick from his almost definitely broken nose. “You win. Congratulations.”

The Doctor releases his arms and stands, careful not to put any more of her weight onto his back than she needs to. She offers him a hand as he gets to his feet, which he ignores. There’s none of the satisfaction she had expected from the victory, just a hollow feeling in her hearts. Her mind feels too empty without him, and even standing mere inches away, he feels distant.

A long moment of silence stretches between them before she says, “Right. Well, um. Let’s get ourselves fixed up, and then I’ll try and find somewhere for us to go.”

He nods sharply and stalks out of the room. The Doctor waits for a minute, giving him enough time to disappear into the hallways before following him. Thankfully, the TARDIS is generous enough to provide her with a first aid kit in her own room, so she doesn’t have to risk running into him in the medbay.

As she sits on her bed, carefully patching up her injuries, the Doctor can’t help but add the fight to the long list of mistakes she’s made. She should have talked to him, instead of indulging their more violent impulses, and she knows it. Too late now, though. She just hopes wherever her ship takes them isn’t too emotionally fraught. This truce between them is fragile, and she doesn’t want to break it.

And then the alarm bells start to ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, I don't resolve the emotional conflict in a single chapter! That's right - they're going to be on an adventure, by themselves, while pissed off at each other. What could go wrong?


	51. Uncanny Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more angst and suffering!

The Doctor rushes to the console room, coat flying out behind her and hearts pounding. A glance at the monitor shows that something is following the TARDIS, trying to track her down. Whatever it is, it’s probably not good, so the Doctor scrambles to begin evasive maneuvers. Bouncing off the edges of the Time Vortex doesn’t make for a comfortable ride, but it does keep them just ahead of the thing tailing them, at least until the scanners can identify it.

“Oh!” she exclaims, though there’s no one around to hear. “It’s a teleport pulse!”

It doesn’t seem to be a threat, so she steadies the TARDIS and lowers the shields enough for it to enter. There’s a pulse of light, followed by a tinny jingle, and then a humanoid form is standing in the console room, a package in its hands.

“Delivery for the Doctor,” the robot announces, its plastic smile unmoving. 

Her face lights up in recognition when she finally places where she’s heard that jingle and seen that ever-so-slightly uncanny valley face before - Kerblam! They’re one of the few intergalactic retailers who can actually ship to the TARDIS, though they tend to be a few years off from when the order was placed. Or, in this one’s case, several hundred. The Doctor is certain her most recent past self had not ordered the fez sitting in the box.

The brief bubble of happiness brought on by the unexpected delivery bursts abruptly when the Master walks into the console room. He’s changed out of his normal purple and black, and is instead dressed in far more casual clothing. Even his hair is parted differently, more neat and tidy. It’s… unnerving, to say the least. She’s been on the wrong end of enough of his disguises to know how skilled an actor he can be, but seeing the transformation happen feels  _ wrong _ .

“What was all that turbulence?” he asks, voice lighter than usual. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just a late delivery,” she replies. Plopping the fez on her head, she forces a smile. “What do you think, does it still suit me?”

He laughs. “Oh, absolutely.”

The worst thing is, it sounds so genuine. Like this was a regular occurrence, a teasing conversation so oft-repeated all sting has long since gone. If the Doctor didn’t know better, she would be worried that he’d found her Chameleon Arch and fabricated a whole life spent traveling with her. But when she reaches out a mental tendril, just a light brush against his mind, just to check, all she gets is a solid wall blocking her out. It’s enough to make her smile drop.

Trying to hide it, she bends down to pick up the packing slip that had fallen to the floor. As she stands again, something on the back of the cardstock catches her eye. Printed in slightly smeared black ink is a plea for help.

“Look at this,” she says, handing the slip to him.

“Help me,” he reads. “Doctor, you don’t think someone’s in danger, do you?”

He fakes sincerity so well it makes her stomach turn. The way his eyes widen, the worried furrow in his brow, the change in his posture; all of it seems so real. Just another one of her companions, caring and kind and human, and none of it anything more than an act borne of spite.

“Well, it can’t hurt to check it out,” she says cheerfully.

The Doctor busies herself with the TARDIS, flipping switches and levers, putting the same flourish into it that she normally saves for when she’s with her companions. Normally, the Master would be making some comment about her steering, but now he watches her with awe in his eyes, as if this is something new and exciting, and not a class they both skipped half the time.

After a moment, the TARDIS materializes at Kerblam’s packaging plant, around the time the parcel had been delivered. A planet hangs in the pink-tinged sky, looming over the enormous building in front of them.

“That’s the planet Kandoka, and we’re on its moon,” the Doctor explains. She knows the Master already knows this, but if he wants to play companion, then he’ll have to suffer through some of her rambling. “Kerblam’s turned it into one massive warehouse.”

“It’s huge!” he exclaims. “How’re we going to find whoever sent that message?”

He has a point. With the size of this place, and the number of workers employed, it would take way too long to try and track down one person. Even if they did manage to get into the records - if the manufacturing of the slips was even recorded - so many packages were shipped in a day it would be nigh on impossible to find one worker who made one change to one slip.

But maybe being amongst the workers would give them a better idea of who could have done it.

“We’ll go undercover,” the Doctor says. She starts walking towards the warehouse. “Come on!”

The Master follows behind her, and she almost reaches out to grab his hand and pull him up so they’re side by side before she remembers. Instead, she shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and tries not to think about it too hard.

Inside, the warehouse is bathed in harsh light, washing out the red paint that accents the white walls. Over the intercoms, a bland voice reminds all the workers to enjoy their day. Behind the desk stands an older woman, black glasses perched on her nose.

“Good morning!” the woman smiles. “Who are you, and what’s your business here?”

“I’m the Doctor, and this is…” The Doctor trails off as she looks at the Master, unsure of how he wants to play this.

“O,” he finishes.

“O?” the woman asks.

He nods, smiling. “Yep! Just O.”

The Doctor recovers before the woman does. “Right, yes, this is O. We’re here for work.”

Looking down, the woman frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t see you on the list.”

“Can you check again?” the Doctor asks. “We just came in from Kandoka. We must be on the list there somewhere.”

“Not expecting anyone new today,” the woman says, frowning. “Didn’t even know there was a shuttle coming in.”

The Doctor leans across the counter. “Do you mind if I take a look? It might just be the spelling.” As the tablet gets passed over, she pulls out her psychic paper and sonic at the same time, one in each hand. “By the way, this is our reference.”

While the woman inspects the paper, reading whatever it’s decided to show, the Doctor does her best to sneakily sonic the tablet. To her side, she can see the Master raise his eyebrows - but again, it’s not quite right. Less mocking and more teasing, more friendly. It’s odd. She doesn’t like it.

“Oh!” the woman exclaims. “You’re relatives of the First Lady!”

Sonicing finished, the Doctor pulls back the psychic paper and glances at it. “Did she put that? We asked her not to.”

“It gets a bit embarrassing,” the Master says conspiratorially.

“Well, there must be some mist- oh, no, there you are! Got you. Private shuttle landing.” The woman laughs, just a little too high and quick to be natural. “Sorry, person error. Me, I mean, um. Right! Well, uh, let’s get you on this induction, then. Follow me, this way.”

She steps out from behind the desk and begins leading them through the lobby. The Doctor makes a point to wave at the young man cleaning out one of the displays as they pass. She begins to ask the woman a question, but quickly realizes she doesn’t know her name.

“Sorry, what was your name again?” the Doctor asks.

“Judy Maddox,” she replies. “Head of People.”

Judy’s little tour takes them past several of the robots that are scattered about the lobby. Another worker, a man in an orange vest, walks up to one and greets it.

“Morning, Les,” he says cheerily. “How’s the family?”

The robot tilts its head. “Good morning, Daniel. My name is not Les, but I acknowledge your amusing coworker banter.”

“Every morning,” Dan sighs. He leans over to the Doctor with a grin. “So much for machine learning.”

“Have a great day, Dan,” the robot chirps.

Dan walks off, and the Doctor can’t resist the urge to try it out herself as she passes the robot. “Hiya!”

Its head swivels so that the glowing blue eyes meet her own. “Good morning, new workers!”

“Little bit creepy, don’t you think?” the Master mutters.

If he were really one of her humans, she would shoot back some comment about it being robophobic. Since he has extensive experience dealing with robots far creepier than these, she bites it back. It’s just another part of his eerily-good act.

The Master isn’t quite sure what he’s doing wrong. He’d put effort into this disguise, this persona; he had dressed differently, softened his voice, changed his mannerisms, all to fit her perfect companion. And she’s still throwing him these odd looks, her mind giving off hints of hesitation that he can feel without even trying. He doesn’t know what else to do to appease her - because this is what she wanted, isn’t it? For him to be like one of her companions, caring and kind and human.

Doing this, putting on this act, was supposed to be her prize, and it still isn’t enough for her. He just isn’t good enough, even when he’s acting nothing like himself. Not surprising, really.

But, as tempting as it is to wallow in self-hatred, he has a lie to maintain, and it’s going to slip if he lets himself get too distracted. So instead he tries to look interested in whatshername’s chatter, and tries even harder to not look at the Doctor.

Eventually, Judy leads them to a large room with some sort of scanner in the center. The Doctor isn’t close enough to tell how advanced it is, but she’s certain it’s going to be able to detect that they both have one more heart than your average humanoid. That might be an issue.

“So, that scanner, what’s it for?” she asks.

“The System allocates work details based on fitness, stamina, dexterity, and mental assessments,” Judy replies. Something about the way she says ‘the system’ implies a capital letter.

One of the robots walks past and the Doctor sees a chance to avoid getting scanned.

“I am loving your robots, by the way,” she says, casually steering Judy away from the monitor and towards the robot. “Very nice, always loved the Kerblam Man.”

“Yes, the TeamMates are the friendly face of the System,” Judy explains happily, utterly oblivious to the Doctor sonicing the monitor behind her. “They’re here to assist and to supervise the organic workers.”

The monitor explodes in a shower of sparks that sets off a loud, rather annoying alarm. Shoving her sonic back into her pocket, the Doctor whirls in feigned shock. The Master does the same, gasping slightly and stepping back to avoid the sparks.

“Oh dear, that’s not good,” Judy mutters. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait to assign you two to your jobs.”

“Or you could do it the old-fashioned way,” the Master suggests. “You know, pick for yourself where we go. You are Head of People, aren’t you?”

Judy falters. “Well, yes, I suppose… It’s hardly standard procedure, but the scanner’s never done this before. I’ll have to call in someone from IT.”

“And who knows how long that will take,” the Doctor adds helpfully. “Seems like the M- O has the right idea. It’ll get us working faster, right?”

“Yes, you’re right,” Judy nods. “Though I’m not sure how much the System will like it.”

“Is Kerblam completely automated, then?” the Doctor asks.

“Er, no, ninety percent. As per Kandokan guidelines. Proud to be a certified ten percent people powered company. I know some people are against quotas, but I’m all for that one.” Judy smiles. “Mind you, I would say that, wouldn’t I? Head of People. Self interest.” She laughs, then looks down. “It’s funny, I don’t normally talk this much.”

A low whirr fills the air, and suddenly the room is plunged into darkness. Judy doesn’t seem worried by the sudden power short, so the Doctor figures it’s a normal occurrence.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll come back on in a moment,” Judy says, confirming the Doctor’s theory.

Sure enough, a second later, there’s another whirr and the lights come back on.

“Could that have anything to do with what broke the scanner?” the Master asks.

The Doctor shoots him a glance, but he doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t want Judy thinking too much on what exactly happened to the scanner.

Luckily, she doesn’t appear to. “No, no. You build a warehouse on the moon, it’s never going to be perfect. We get the occasional power drain, it’s down to the self-optimization systems.”

Interesting. Whatever it is that’s causing these might have something to do with the message. Or, perhaps, it’s something entirely unrelated that will come back to haunt them. The Doctor’s prepared for either, at this point.

“Right, anyways, I’ll take you on the tour now,” Judy says. “Maybe that will help me decide what jobs you should have.”

She walks off further into the building, and the Doctor follows behind her. Where the Master would normally be next to her, or at least right behind her, he now trails several steps back. The Doctor hadn’t realized how much distance there usually is between her and her companions this time around until now, until suddenly the constant presence by her side is gone. Well, not  _ gone _ , but not where he should be. She wishes she had just talked to him, instead of taking this stupid bet and consigning herself to a whole trip of this gap between them. Though, she supposes, it’s a bit too late now.


	52. Insubordination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's already June!

The tour takes them through each of the main areas of the Kerblam warehouse, until they finally end in Final Checks. Judy explains what happens there - parcels are inspected and sealed, then sent down via conveyor to Dispatch - and ends her little speech with, “Any questions?”

The Doctor raises her hand. “Can I do the packing slips?”

“Well, normally only purple GroupLoops do packing stations, but since you don’t have a GroupLoop yet… I don’t see why not!” Judy smiles. “I’m sure the scanner will be fixed by the end of your first shift, so just make sure to come talk to me during your break, and we’ll get you properly assigned. What about you, O? Any preferences?”

“Er, no, not really.” The Master looks startled that he would even be asked, though the Doctor is well aware it’s just another part of the act.

A thread of uncertainty in her mind makes her consider asking Judy to keep them together, because despite the trust they’ve built up over the past months, right now the Doctor trusts the Master about as far as she can throw him. No, bad choice of words, she can usually throw him a good few meters if she tries. Regardless, she isn’t entirely sure he’s going to keep the harmless human act up if she’s not there for him to spite. On the other hand, being around him when he’s pretending to be human is borderline painful just from the ache in her hearts, so a part of her is all too excited to be away from him for a few hours. In the end, she keeps quiet, like a coward.

“Charlie’s been a little overwhelmed, so why don’t you head down to Maintenance?” Judy suggests. “I’ll have one of the TeamMates show you the way.”

The Master nods.

“Leisure breaks are in the Home Zone. Right, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of the TeamMates,” Judy says brightly. “I’ll be checking in on you, making sure you’re okay. Gotta keep an eye on the ten percent, as my dad used to say.” She raises one fist in a cheering motion. “Go organics!”

Neither the Doctor nor the Master have a response to that. After an awkward, silent second, Judy pushes her glasses up her nose self-consciously.

“He was uh, a bit odd, my dad,” she adds, before quickly walking out of the room.

Once Judy leaves, there’s a moment of quiet. The Doctor considers saying something,  _ anything _ , to break the dead air. Even pointless rambling about whatever topic flits through her mind is better than this torturous nothing. Before she can make a fool of herself, though, a pair of TeamMates approach them.

“Hello, coworkers!” the one on the right says. “We’re so thrilled to have you with us. The Doctor, come with me. O, with my colleague to the left.”

The other TeamMate waves its hand.

“Right, meet up in the Home Zone?” the Doctor asks.

“Yep!” the Master replies. “See you then.”

With that, both of them head after their assigned TeamMate. The Doctor does her best not to worry about what the Master might do unsupervised. Hopefully it won’t end with anyone killed.

If the Master has to listen to one more safety rule, he is going to kill something. All of them are blatantly obvious to any creature even approaching sentience, and some of them almost make him genuinely worried about how they came about. Number 54 - do not allow flammable cleaning fluid near open flames or high heat - is just one of many. At least the mind-numbing quality of the robot’s voice makes it ideal for zoning out to, giving him the perfect chance to think about how annoyed he is.

No, not annoyed,  _ angry _ . Much easier to get by mad at the Doctor for this than to analyze why he feels such a twisting in his chest. Certainly much easier than talking about it, though that was what got him into this situation in the first place. He doesn’t realize he’s been messing with his sonic pen until he drops it. Just another small irritation, but it certainly doesn’t help.

When he straightens from picking up his sonic, he sees a young man entering the room holding a rag and a spraybottle. The robot leaves, finally deciding he’s listened to enough pointless lecturing, allowing him a moment of blessed silence before he remembers that he should probably say something suitably human and polite.

“Hello!” he says, waving. “I’m O. You must be Charlie, right?”

The boy looks startled by the human interaction. “Er, yeah. I saw you arrive earlier, but I, um, wasn’t really expecting anyone new down here.”

“Well, there was an issue with the scanner, so Judy had to assign jobs personally,” the Master explains, keeping his tone bright and friendly. “And she said you needed a hand, so here I am!”

“Oh, okay,” Charlie mumbles.

Clearly, he’s not going to speak without encouragement, and as reluctant as the Master is to willingly engage in conversation with him, he needs information. If anyone is going to know what’s going on in this place, it’s the cleaners.

“So, how exactly does all this work?” he asks, sounding just interested enough to seem genuine.

“The moment there’s a mess or a spill, we get beeped,” Charlie explains, gesturing as he does. “There’s strict time guidelines on how quickly we’re supposed to get there, and how long it takes for us to clear things up. All laid out by the System. They check up on us after every task.”

The Master nods. He’s about to ask another question when the lights begin to flicker.

From the speakers, the same bland voice the Master has just spent the past hour and a half ignoring announces, “Temporary functionality issues. Team 9, please take an emergency rest break in the Home Zone now.”

So much for gathering intel.

The only other person working in the same part of the packing station is a young woman who had introduced herself as Kira Arlo. She seems nice, in a nervous way, and is more than happy to talk with the Doctor. Normally, the Doctor would have been equally excited to chat, but she just can’t muster the energy to care, not today. So instead, she lets Kira do most of the talking.

“What I don’t understand is, why does Kerblam need people as a workforce?” the Doctor asks, after a lull in the conversation. “These are automated and repetitive tasks. Why not get the robots to do it?”

“D’you not watch the news?” Kira asks.

“I travel a lot.” She lifts another box onto the conveyor and sends it down.

“Kandokan labor laws,” Kira explains. “Ever since the People Power protest movements, companies have to make sure a minimum ten percent of the workforce are actual people. At all levels. Like the slogan says, real people need real jobs. Work gives us purpose, right?”

The Doctor doesn’t reply to that. Perhaps for some work, that would be true, but when it’s a job like this, it mostly seems like a hollow phrase.

Kira must notice her slightly dour mood, because she flashes the Doctor a grin and says, “Do you want a tip? If I ever get bored, I imagine customers opening their parcels back on Kandoka. Their big smiles. I only ever got a present the once, but... oh, I can never forget how it felt. Like- like a little box of happiness.”

That happiness, that gentle joy in bringing light into someone else’s life, manages to lift the Doctor’s spirits a little. “You have a great approach to life, Kira.”

“Thank you,” Kira smiles, but it’s slightly sad. “That’s so lovely of you, nobody’s ever said something that nice to me.”

The Doctor reaches into the bin of packing slips next to her and realizes, rather belatedly, that she hasn’t seen anyone come to drop more off in the entire two hours she’s been down here. That seems more than a bit odd.

She holds up one to Kira. “Where are these packing slips generated from?”

“I don’t know,” the girl replies. “They just sort of arrive here. Our little instruction slips.”

So whoever’s making the slips, they must be delivered between shifts by a mystery person. Perhaps Kira just doesn’t know anyone outside of the packing department, or perhaps there’s something more sinister at work here. Knowing the Doctor’s luck, it’s the second one.

Before she can ask Kira for more details, a man in an ill-fiiting suit walks through the plastic barrier separating the two halves of the room, brandishing a metal clipboard.

“Alright, come on, pick up the pace!” he snaps. “Come on, Kira, re-engage brain, if you can find it.”

Instantly, Kira’s smile disappears, and she shrinks into herself. “Sorry, Mr. Slade.”

The Doctor’s eyes narrow. People who misuse their power annoy her, and Kira has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” she says.

The man turns to her and gives her a disdainful look. “Who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor, I’m new.” She walks towards him, and realizes that she’s a bit taller than he is. A welcome change, and one that means he’s forced to look up to glare at her. “And you are?”   


“Jarvis Slade, Warehouse Executive,” he replies, pointing the clipboard at her. “ _ Your _ boss.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got the clipboard for it,” she remarks. “Be nicer to Kira, please.”

He sneers. “How would you like a warning for insubordination?”

“I’d love one! Oh, I could add it to my collection!”

It’s clearly not the response Slade was hoping for - fear, perhaps, or at least not delight. He draws back slightly.

“Doctor, don’t,” Kira hisses. She doesn’t listen.

“Gentle people skills advice for you, Mr. Slade: respect goes both ways. The best managers, the really good ones, value their staff and know instinctively if someone’s in trouble, or is asking for help.” She leans down slightly and meets his eyes. “Now, how good a manager are you? Know anyone who needs help?”

There’s a pause, and then Slade looks away. “Get back to work. All of you.”

The Doctor sighs, frustrated. For a second there, she’d thought she was going to get a proper answer out of him. But, she supposes, it’s too much to hope that anything would go well today.

As she heads back to her packing station, Kira gives her a worried look.

“Be careful with Slade,” she says. “Last week, Zaph got a warning for leaning on the conveyor, and the next day he was gone.”

That catches the Doctor's attention. “Does that sort of thing happen often?”

“A few have gone recently.” Kira shrugs. “Zaph, Jax from the canteen, Chinello from Maintenance. And it’s weird, because Looper called Chinello’s mom, and she never arrived home.”

The Doctor adds mysteriously disappearing employees to the long list of suspicious things going on here. That, the packing slips, and the power drains all add up to form a very worrying picture. And, speak of the devil, the lights begin to fade.

When they come back on, there’s an announcement over the intercoms. “Temporary functionality issues. Team 9, please take an emergency rest break in the Home Zone now.”

She sighs again. Hopefully the Master will have learned something useful by now, though her hearts twist at the thought of having to deal with his disguise. Today is just not her day.


	53. Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We move the plot along once again! All Doctor POV this time, but don't worry - the Master will get a scene in the next chapter.

The Home Zone, as it turns out, is a hologram of a grassy park, scattered with picnic benches and fake trees. Workers sit in groups of two or three, eating from plastic trays. TeamMates are stationed around the area, keeping watchful, glowing eyes on everything. The Doctor found an empty bench and settled in; though Kira had offered to join her, she had other company in mind.

It takes the Master a little while to arrive. Following him is a young man with curly hair, dragging a mop and rolling bucket behind him.

“Doctor!” the Master calls, as if she hasn’t been watching him since she saw him enter the room. “This is Charlie.”

She smiles politely at the boy, who waves. The Master sits down across from her, still acting distressingly human. Charlie moves to sit next to him, but suddenly turns.

On the other side of the room, Kira is headed towards a group of people, tray in hand. Her foot catches on something and she stumbles, and a moment later her tray is upside down, her food scattered across the synthetic grass. Instantly, Charlie is running over to her.

If the Doctor really wanted to, she could focus on their conversation. She doesn’t. Instead, she turns to face the Master.

“So, I didn’t get much of anything from Charlie,” he says. “Mostly it was a lecture on all sorts of safety procedures I need to follow. Did you have any luck?”

“I got yelled at for insubordination.” The Doctor would be lying if she said there wasn’t a proud grin on her face for a moment, though it quickly drops. “And found out that people have been going missing. A lot of people, and under very mysterious circumstances.”

The Master’s eyes widen. “Mysterious how?”

“Kira said some of them got warnings from the Warehouse Executive, and the next day they were gone,” she explains. “I think he has something to do with it. So, I’m going to go file a complaint.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” the Master asks.

Normally, the Doctor wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. Having him with her is nice for several reasons - the obvious one is, of course, that she has backup if something should go wrong, and that said backup has significantly fewer moral qualms than she does. And there’s something reassuring about his presence, about being able to clasp his hand in hers or knowing he’s behind her while she glares down whatever they’re facing. Now, though…

Now she isn’t so sure. She’s not entirely prepared for having him there but distant, not willing to be so close to him while he’s still pretending.

“No,” she says, after what is probably too long a pause. “I need you to get a map of the complex and some info on the history of the company.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

Even if she doesn’t take the Master with her, the Doctor needs some company. She turns to see what’s happened with Kira and Charlie, and finds them standing, looking at each other and clearly stuttering their way through a painfully awkward conversation. For some reason, Charlie is holding Kira’s tray, and blushing to his ears. She almost feels a bit bad for them.

The Doctor stands and walks over to the pair, leaving the Master at the picnic table. Neither human notices her until she’s nearly on top of them, and then they both whirl towards her in obvious shock.

“Oh, uh, hi, Doctor!” Kira manages. “I was just talking to Charlie, he helped me after I tripped.”

Charlie nods, still looking flustered.

“That’s nice of you, Charlie,” the Doctor says. “Now, Kira, I need you for something. Just a quick little trip, won’t take too long.”

“Sure!” Kira says. “Um, bye Charlie."

If possible, Charlie blushes more. “Bye Kira.”

He walks off, back to where he’d left his mop, and the Doctor and Kira make their way out of the Home Zone. The hallways of the warehouse are strangely empty for somewhere that hosts thousands of workers, and the lights cast sharp shadows as they walk.

“So, where are we going?” Kira asks. “And why do you need me?”

“Well, you said people have been going missing, and if anyone’s going to know about that, it should be the Head of People,” the Doctor says. “So I thought I should go have a chat with her about it. And I thought, since you’ve been here longer and knew some of the people who disappeared, you’d be helpful.”

The real reason is that she doesn’t trust herself not to do something she’ll regret if she goes alone. All the things she wishes she hadn’t done during that last trip - mocking King James, taunting Becca, threatening the Morax - had been when her humans hadn’t been there to see. She doesn’t want to make the same mistakes, so she needs to keep someone around; someone who won’t encourage her when she wants to sink verbal claws into a corrupt person’s chest and _tear_ them to shreds.

But telling Kira the real reason would just scare her off, and the poor girl seems skittish enough as is, so the Doctor is most certainly not going to do that. And there’s a tightness in the way the timelines twist around Kira that makes her worry that something bad will happen if she doesn’t keep her safe. Memories from that other timeline, perhaps, or just centuries worth of instincts. She can’t tell them apart, these days. Whatever the reason, keeping Kira around feels like a good idea.

Kira looks worried. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Taking it up with Judy, I mean. It’s probably nothing.”

“Well, it can’t hurt,” the Doctor reasons. “And if we’re quick, we’ll be done by the end of our break. Don’t worry.”

Judy isn’t at her desk when the Doctor gets there, but the notice on her computer claims she’s in a meeting with Mr. Slade, which suits the Doctor just fine. She’d wanted to talk to him as well. Kira is less enthused.

“He scares me, Doctor,” she says quietly. “I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m terrified he’s going to fire me for some silly mistake, and then I won’t have anywhere to go.”

“Kira, listen to me.” The Doctor looks her in the eyes. “I promise, I won’t let Slade do anything to you. Even if he fires you, I’ll find you somewhere else to go. But I want to find out what’s been making people go missing and why, and to do that, we need to talk to them. I can even do most of the talking.”

Kira is silent for a moment, her face twisting as she considers. “Okay. I’ll come. For Zaph, and Jax, and Chinello.”

“That’s the spirit!” The Doctor grins. “Now, come on.”

Slade’s office is minimalistic, all glass and geometric light fixtures. All except for the filing cabinet against one wall, which the Doctor makes a note of. When the Doctor enters, Slade and Judy seem to be in the middle of a conversation, but it comes to a screeching halt when she marches up to the desk.

“Do you need something?” Slade asks. His tone implies that the answer should be no, followed by a swift exit.

“Yes,” she says. “People have been vanishing. Maybe you should call the police.”

“There are no police here,” he sighs.

“The authorities, then!”

“We _are_ the authorities,” Judy explains. “Kerblam is its own jurisdiction. We have responsibility for all employee welfare.”

“Then you’d better be worthy of the jobs you’re holding,” the Doctor snaps, “because people are missing. And I don’t think they’re the only ones. Not if this is any indicator.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the packaging slip, placing it on Slade’s desk so the message is facing up. “This came to me in a delivery.”

Slade looks at it, then shows it to Judy after a moment. They both look concerned, but not surprised.

“What do you think it means?” Judy asks.

“Well it’s not very vague,” the Doctor points out, her voice terse with annoyance. “Clearly someone was scared, and now I’m finding that even more people have gone missing. Who has access to the printing system for those packing slips?”

“Nobody,” Slade replies. The Doctor sighs in frustration. “They’re auto-generated during the order process. But they’re placed in boxes by the workers in Fulfillment. Your section.”

“There, um, there really isn’t time to do anything to the slips,” Kira says quietly. “Too many boxes to pack.”

“Kira’s right. This had to have happened before Fulfillment.” The Doctor paces back and forth across the office before stopping. “Something is very wrong here at Kerblam. And if you two don’t do something about it, I might start to suspect that you’re responsible.”

“We’ll look into it,” Judy promises. Slade glances at her, and she adds, “You have my word.”

“Mine too,” Slade adds.

As much as the Doctor would like to believe them, there’s too many missing people and too many coincidences for her to go off word alone.

“Those words better be worth something,” she warns. “And if anything happens to us, or to anyone here, you’ll have me to answer to.”

With that, she grabs the packing slip off of Slade’s desk and turns for the door. Kira follows her, and as soon as they leave the office, she lets out a shaky exhale.

“That was terrifying,” she gasps. “Why did you- oh goodness, he’s going to fire me.”

The Doctor lays a hand on Kira’s shoulder, desperately wishing for Grace’s skill at comforting people. “Kira, don’t worry. I said I was going to keep you safe, didn’t I?”

“Y-yeah.” Kira takes a deep breath. “Sorry, just… never seen anyone stand up to Mr. Slade like that before. Everyone’s always been too scared of him.”

“It’s okay to be scared, just so long as you don’t let fear control you,” the Doctor says.

The original plan - or, the start of a plan, at least - had been to go in, see what they said, and then go back to work. Now, though, she has a different plan, thanks to what she’d seen in Slade’s office.

Why would someone in a company borderline obsessed with technology have a filing cabinet, unless he was hiding something from anyone with access to the System? Whatever Slade has in there is almost certainly worth checking out. She just has to get in there first.

“Kira,” the Doctor says, testing the edges of one of the decorated sections of wall, “have you ever hidden in a paneled alcove?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renegade Time Lords will see a sweet, shy human and ask, "Does anyone want to adopt this?" and not even wait for a response


	54. Missing Persons Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this to distract myself from the movie that I'm watching with my family, because I'm Done with it and need something else to do.

Most of working in Maintenance seems to consist of waiting for someone to make a mess. Charlie seems content to spend this time organizing the various parts laying around - parts that the Master is pretty sure he shouldn’t have, given that they’re meant for electrical engineering; the advanced kind needed for teleportation technology. Well, advanced for the time they’re in, at least. But O wouldn’t know that, and the Master honestly doesn’t care, so he doesn’t mention it.

“So, Charlie, how long have you had a crush on Kira?” the Master asks.

It wasn’t hard to notice, and if he plays his cards right, the discussion should make Charlie trust him more. Hopefully enough to give him a map of the building, so that the Doctor can do whatever it is she has half-planned and get this over with.

Charlie immediately stops what he’s doing. “How’d you know about that?”

“Well, I mean, you were blushing quite a bit when you were talking to her,” the Master points out.

“I- I dunno, it’s kind of… It’s just…” Charlie moves around the piles of stuff until he’s standing in front of the Master, twisting his hands together. “Er, ‘s just, I can’t- I can’t concentrate when I’m near her. It’s like I forget everything I’m supposed to be doing, you know?”

The Master tries very hard not to think of his days at the Academy spent pining after his best friend, to little avail. There had been days where he could hardly focus in class because he was too busy thinking about the curl of Theta’s hair or the color of his eyes. The day after the first time they kissed was also the first time Koschei had gotten less than an 80% on a test, and that was no coincidence.

“Yeah, I think I do,” he says, and if it comes out a little more earnest than he meant then he can chalk it up to his acting skills.

Charlie beams and goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

Now that the Master’s mind is on the past, he can’t stop thinking about it. The memories bring a bittersweet ache to his chest, a reminder of lighter times and lower stakes. Back when the worst thing he could imagine happening was Theta hating him. If only he had known how complicated it would get, he would have… Well, as much as he likes to think that he would have tried harder to keep Theta  _ his _ , he knows in his hearts it wouldn’t work. Every time he tries to join the Doctor, one of them ruins it. Even this, which has lasted far longer than he honestly expected it to, is falling apart now.

They’re too similar and they both know it, but she won’t admit it. If, by some miracle, she still wants him around after this, then it’s just a matter of time before something else goes wrong and they go back to fighting. Still, he's going to miss it, even if he would never admit it.

“Charlie, would you mind doing me a favor?” the Master asks, after a long period of silence. “I don’t think I know the layout of this place too well yet, and once I start working on my own, I’m going to need to be able to find my way around pretty quick. So I was thinking, if you could draw me some sort of…”

“Diagram?” Charlie offers.

The Master smiles. “Yes! Exactly. A diagram of Kerblam, that might help me keep up with how quickly I’ll need to get to the spills.”

“I reckon I could get that,” Charlie nods.

As it turns out, it is remarkably easy to steal from the glass cases in the lobby, given that one has the security codes for them. Which, as the person who cleans them, Charlie does. The TeamMates don’t seem to notice anything amiss as the Master grabs the blueprints to the building and leaves again, following the Doctor’s psychic signal.

It takes four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and fifty-one seconds for Slade to finally leave his office, not counting the additional minute and forty-three seconds the Doctor had spent coaxing Kira into the alcove and explaining why she was really at Kerblam. Luckily, Kira doesn’t seem very inclined to ask a lot of questions, which the Doctor is very grateful for. Though she’s more than happy to fill the time telling stories of past adventures, she really doesn’t want to talk about herself.

Finally, as she’s wrapping up a rambling rendition of the time she met Agatha Christie, she hears footsteps heading away from Slade’s office. After waiting an extra minute, just to be sure, she slides the panel open and creeps out.

The lights in the hallway have gone dim and blue-tinted, signalling nighttime for the warehouse. They give an eerie cast to the somewhat reflective surface of Slade’s desk as the Doctor enters.

“Now, we need to get a look inside that filing cabinet,” she explains, pulling out her sonic.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kira whispers. “What if he comes in?”

“Nah, he won’t!” She pulls open the top drawer, revealing files full of paper. “Ooh, paperwork, very retro. Now, what sort of paperwork does Slade keep locked away?”

She runs her fingers along the top of the files, until she spots a slim folder that catches her eye. Most of the files are just redundant copies of worker information, but this one has a sheet of paper with handwritten notes scribbled on it. There’s only a few sheets in it - the one with the writing, and then several pages of what seem to be worker profiles - but the Doctor grabs all of them.

Glancing at the writing as she walks to the desk, her breath catches. Quickly, she spreads the papers out on the desk.

“What is it?” Kira asks. “Is something wrong?”

Kira leans over to get a better look at the papers and her eyes widen. The handwritten list is of the seven people gone missing, along with their department and when they were last seen. Zaph, Jax, and Chinello are all on it.

“You’d better have a very good excuse for breaking in here.” Judy’s voice startles the Doctor into whirling around. “Kira’s GroupLoop told me you were back here.”

The Doctor groans. “Oh. I knew that, but I forgot that.” She stands up properly and says, gesturing and walking across the room, “What if I said we got lost, ended up in here by accident, just as that filing cabinet  _ weirdly _ fell open. How would that play?”

By the flat, unimpressed look on Judy’s face, she doesn’t believe it. “There were no shuttles from Kandoka today. I checked. Who are you? Industrial spies?”

“I was being honest with you earlier,” the Doctor says, frustrated. “I got a message someone needed help, so I came. People are vanishing, and Mr. Slade is keeping a running tally.”

She turns back to the desk, pointing to the papers laid out on the glassy surface. Judy follows her, leaning over to look.

“Seven people so far,” the Doctor continues. “According to these notes, it started four months ago with two workers. The next month, another. This month, four. The disappearances are on the increase. No wonder people are sending out cries for help! And as Head of People for Kerblam, I’d suggest you’re guilty of some pretty serious negligence!”

That, perhaps, is a bit of a low blow. Judy seems to sincerely care for the workers, and from her reaction, she’s either relatively innocent or a very good actress. But even if she isn’t involved in whatever’s causing the disappearances directly, not noticing seven people missing is a little strange.

The lights begin to flicker and the now-familiar electronic whine of a power drain rings through the room. After a moment of darkness, the lights come back on in an unnerving shade of red, bathing the office in a bloody light.

“That- that’s just another power drain, right?” Kira asks, her voice shaky.

“That’s not a power drain, that’s a total system blackout.” Judy steps around the desk and over to the computer. With a quick press of some buttons, she pulls up a representation of the building, each level flashing with a small red warning symbol. Each level except for the very bottom one. “The power’s drained right down to the foundational levels!”

“What’s down in the foundational levels?” the Doctor asks. By Judy’s tone, it’s nothing good.

She feels the Master enter the room before he speaks. Ever since he cut their telepathic connection, she’s been stopping her mind from reaching out to his, but she’s still unavoidably  _ aware _ of him.

“I can help with that,” he says, and for a brief moment he sounds like the Master and not O.

Then she looks up and sees the nervous smile on his face, and her hearts sink. Still keeping up the act, then. She isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Charlie, what are you doing up here?” Judy demands.

“Sorry, Judy,” Charlie says quickly. “Oh, uh, h- hi Kira!”

Kira smiles and waves.

The Master hands the Doctor a set of blueprints, folded up neatly and faded with age. “These are the original plans for Kerblam.”

She nods her thanks, then sets about unfolding the plans and spreading them across the desk. Doing so obscures the papers, but those are less important at the moment anyway.

“What are you doing with those? Those are company artefacts!” Judy points at Charlie accusingly. “Was this down to you?”

“Hey, Doctor?” Kira says. “If, um, if everything’s shut down, then why is that TeamMate still active?”

The Doctor turns, and sees that Kira’s correct. Standing in the doorway to the office, eyes glowing a ghostly blue in the red lighting, is one of the TeamMates. It’s blocking the only exit, and she has a sneaking suspicion that’s not an accident.

“Oh, good question,” she mutters, reaching for her sonic. “Back behind me, everyone.”

“Error reported. Error reported.” the robot states.

It begins walking towards them, leaving the doorway open. Perhaps if the Doctor’s quick enough, she can get everyone out of the room, but it would probably require her distracting it somehow. Her mind is racing through a dozen possible plans when she notices Charlie stepping closer to the robot.

“Charlie, what are you doing?” Kira whispers.

Charlie shakes his head. “No, don’t worry, I can- uh, I can look at it.”

“Error reported. Error reported.”

With more confidence than the Doctor would have expected from him, Charlie reaches for the robot’s ear. In a smooth motion so quick the Doctor doesn’t even have time to warn him, the robot swings its fist at Charlie’s head. He just barely ducks beneath its swing, sparks exploding as it makes contact with the light panels in the wall.

“Investigating. Investigating.” The robot wraps its hand around Charlie’s throat and lifts him off of his feet.

“Charlie!” The Doctor is across the room in a second, her sonic at the ready. It doesn’t seem any use, however. The sonic can’t get a fix on the programming, and it’s going to take longer than she has for it to figure it out.

“Doctor, do something!” the Master - no, O - shouts.

“I’m trying!” she snaps. “The receptor codes are fluctuating.”

A cloud of sparks and smoke fills the room as Judy quickly and efficiently twists the TeamMate’s head off, leaving the body to topple to the floor. Charlie gasps, and Judy drops the head as she moves to comfort him. The Doctor’s more focussed on the head, though, sonicing it in hopes of finding some more useful information. When the head isn’t much help, she tries sonicing the exposed wiring of the body - again, nothing. All the receptor cells have been fried, but it doesn’t seem to be the result of its rather impromptu end. More like it had too much power running through it and couldn’t take the strain.

After another few seconds, there’s a whirr as the power comes back on, and the red lights flicker out in favor of the blue again.

“Oh, and we’re back online! But the receptor cells on this are all blown out.” The Doctor lifts the head - still sparking slightly - and carries it over onto Slade’s desk, placing it on top of the pile of papers in what is probably an unadvisable move from a safety perspective. She sonics it one more time, causing another burst of sparks, then gives the computer a shot. “Huh. It’s as if the System suddenly channeled all its energy into this one single TeamMate.”

“So the System’s attacking us?” the M- O asks.

The Doctor nods. “It’s like the System’s gone rogue.”

“Of course the System’s gone  _ rogue _ ,” Judy says. “Nobody would do this deliberately.”

Something about her defensiveness, the ease with which she reacted to the TeamMate attacking Charlie, makes the Doctor suspicious. Probably nothing, but she can’t be sure.

“If I ever find out that you’re lying…” She trails off, but there’s enough of a threat in her tone to finish the warning.

“I have worked for  _ years _ to make Kerblam more of a people-powered company,” Judy protests. “My career has been about bringing people like Charlie here, people who need a second chance. Haven’t I?”

“It’s true,” Kira says. “She’s always been so kind to everyone. She bought me chocolates for my birthday last year when I was new and nobody else remembered.”

“I’ve never seen these papers of Slade’s before now,” Judy adds. “Those names, they’re still active on the System. According to the System, they’re still alive and working!” She looks at the Doctor, almost pleading. “There are ten thousand people here. I can’t keep track of them all.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply.

“What are we going to do?” O asks.

“If I could get a copy of the original code,” she muses, “I could hack in, isolate the upgrades, and see what it’s up to.”

“So, you’d need Twirly, then, wouldn’t you?” Kira says. When the Doctor gives her a look of surprise, she grows embarrassed. “You know, the original delivery bot? I, um, I spent a lot of time looking at the old displays in the lobby when I was new.”

The Doctor grins. “Kira, that’s exactly what I need!”


	55. System Reboot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this got posted later than normal, I got caught up in my latest obsession - Pokemon fangames. Thanks to the bad influence of the Thoschei Discord server, I've started working on making a fangame featuring the Deca as the Gym Leaders, as well as all kinds of other fun stuff. If enough people are interested, I'll share the link for it on AO3 once it's complete, though that might take anywhere from a few months to a few years, depending on how quickly I get the hang of RPG Maker.

In the dark, the lights dimmed and blue, the lobby of Kerblam is unnerving. A few TeamMates lurk throughout the room, but their eyes are dull and inactive. As the Doctor sonics open the glass case holding Twirly, Charlie glances anxiously around.

“I don’t think we should do this,” he protests, his voice echoing through the space. “If Mr. Slade finds out, then…”

“Leave Slade to me,” Judy says. “Let’s just hurry up before the TeamMates come on their patrol.”

The glass sinks down at a painfully slow pace, making the Doctor impatient. As soon as there’s a gap large enough to stick her screwdriver through, she does exactly that and turns Twirly on. Red lights flash on along the bottom edge of its head, and it lets out a warbling beep.

“Here we go, Twirly!” she grins. “Nice to meet you.”

Reaching into the container, she plucks the robot off of its spinning dias. It beeps at her again, and then begins to speak.

“Customers who selected these items also bought ear muffles, pencil sharpeners, and cola bottles,” it informs her. “Say ‘yes’ now to order these three for the price of the cheapest two.”

“No,” she says firmly.

“Thank you!” it chirps. “I have stored your preferences. Remember, if you want it, Kerblaaaaaaa-”

The robot powers down with a depressing downward slide of its voice, the lights along its head going dim. After a moment, it sits dark and useless in the Doctor’s hands.

“Ugh, it’s out of juice,” she mutters. “Needs to be recharged before I can access the code.”

“I’m sure I saw some electrical equipment down in maintenance storage,” O offers.

Charlie shakes his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“It’s the best one we’ve got right now,” the Doctor says. “Come on, everyone!”

The maintenance storage room is just the right level of cluttered for the Doctor to feel at home amongst the stacks of miscellaneous parts. With some reluctant help from Charlie locating the necessary pieces, she manages to piece together a charging system for Twirly. She notes, absently, that some of those pieces aren’t really the sort of thing that should be lying around in a glorified broom closet, but chalks it up to needing to repair the TeamMates. 

After that, it’s just a matter of waiting. Before she thinks the better of it, she starts to say something to the Master, but stops. He probably doesn’t want to talk, and she doesn’t want to talk to the-Master-as-O. Before, the disguises had always been part of a plot, and now she can’t shake the suspicion that perhaps, in some way, this one is as well.

“Kira, can we- I mean, I need to talk to you about something,” Charlie whispers.

He’s trying, for whatever reason, to be stealthy. It’s not working very well, but he’s quiet enough that Judy doesn’t seem to hear. Kira nods, looking confused, and they both leave the room.

The Doctor is bored and curious, and that is a very dangerous combination for her. So, feigning nonchalance, she moves until she’s near enough to the cracked-open door to hear the conversation in the hallway.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here,” Charlie says.

“What do you mean?” Kira asks. “I mean, I know there’s something wrong with the System, but the Doctor’s going to take care of it.”

There’s a pause, and then Charlie says, “I just- I don’t want you to get hurt or anything. I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.”

“Charlie, if something’s wrong you can tell me,” Kira coaxes. “But where else would I go?”

He mutters something, too quiet for the Doctor to make out.

Kira sighs. “I can’t. It’s not that I don’t, um… But the Doctor said she needed my help and I don’t want to just leave her.”

“Oh. Right.” Charlie’s tone is sharp with annoyance, or possibly anger.

There’s the sound of heavy footsteps fading down the hallway, and a moment later Kira re-enters the room. The Doctor endeavors to look like she wasn’t listening in, taking a small step away from the door and busying herself with some of the cleaning supplies on one shelf. 

“Charlie’s going to, er. Well, I’m not really sure where he’s going, but he left,” Kira says.

She sits down near Judy and doesn’t say anything more. The Doctor spends the next few minutes alternating between pacing, reorganizing the piles of stuff, and worrying about what Charlie might be doing and what could be causing the System to act like this. Finally, after a small eternity, Twirly’s red lights come back on, and she practically jumps at the chance to  _ do _ something. One quick sonicing later, Twirly is activated again.

“-am it!” the robot continues, as though it had never been shut off. “You may also like to know that we have a one hour offer on cushions! Cushions liven up the grimmest workplace. Like this one.”

“Twirly, hi.” She leans down so that she’s at eye level with the robot and waves. “I’m the Doctor, this is... O, that’s Kira, and this is Judy. And can you pause all sales protocols for a bit?”

“Even the upselling?” It sounds slightly disappointed by that one.

She nods sympathetically. “Even the upselling. You’ve just had a nap of about a hundred and fifty years, so your offers are out of date anyway.”

If Twirly had facial expressions, she imagines it would be frowning. “Without upselling, my only purpose is delivery.”

“No, we don’t need you for that either,” O says.

“The future is very confusing for my protocols,” Twirly complains. “I serve Kerblam, and Kerblam serves the people.”

Judy leans in front of the Doctor, showing her tablet to the robot’s camera. “Which is why we need your help. These are my Kerblam credentials, my executive green code. We need you to carry out a task which may fundamentally save Kerblam.”

“I am only a delivery bot!” The robot spins in distress.

“Oh no, it’s nervous,” Kira says. “It’s okay!”

“Don’t panic, Twirly. You can do this.” The Doctor gives it a small smile, and the worried spinning stops. “It’s possible that Kerblam has been compromised. I’m going to patch you into the System.” She picks up the cable she’d set aside earlier for this exact purpose, then gets to work connecting it to one of the computer terminals that had been left in the storage room for repairs. Though its screen is glitchy and non-functional, it’s connected to the System, and that’s all she needs. “I need you to look far and wide past new upgrades and firewalls and security patches into the base code only you can recognize, and then you can tell us what’s going on and  _ deliver _ the information to us."

“Retrieve and deliver,” Twirly agrees. “I understand!”

The Doctor grabs the other end of the cable and says, apologetically, “This might tickle.”

Then she plugs it in to the port, and things immediately start sparking and fizzling. The lights flicker, the terminal screen shutters through a rainbow of neons before shutting off entirely, and Twirly spins wildly around, recorded voice glitching out as it cries for help. As quickly as she can, the Doctor yanks the cable out of the port again, but it seems to be too late.

“Help. Help. Help.” Twirly repeats.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Help me. Help me.” it continues, voice shifting and warping.

She’s unplugged it from the System, so whatever caused this should have stopped. There’s no reason it should still be begging for help. “Why’re you saying that?”

“Not Twirly speaking, the System,” it informs her. “Kerblam. Help me, Doctor. Help me.”

The revelation hits her like a tonne of bricks. “Oh! The System sent the message. It printed the slip, it sent it out!”

“Why would the System need help?” O asks, raising a very good point.

Up until now, she’d been assuming the System was a vehicle or a tool for some other plan, not an entity in and of itself, but now… It was clearly more advanced than anyone had anticipated, advanced enough to know when it was in danger - or when its workers were - and find someone to come and help it. But from what she’d seen, the System had nearly total control of the Kerblam warehouse. Anything that could threaten it would have to be in its sphere of control in the first place, so there wouldn’t be many problems it couldn’t solve by itself. What could be so bad that it would need to ask for help?   


“Twirly, what do you mean?” she demands. “What sort of help? How can we help?”

“Help required. In Dispatch. Help in Dispatch. Urgent help.” it replies.

Well, that answers one of her questions, and if she had to guess, that’s probably where Charlie’s gone. Hopefully he’s still safe and whatever’s been messing with the System hasn’t hurt him yet.

“I’m stupid, really stupid,” the Doctor mutters as they walk. “Can you believe how stupid I am?”

The Master bites back the first answer that comes to mind - yes, yes I can, I’ve seen the sort of things you wear - and instead manages a marginally less snarky, “Do you want the honest answer to that?”

She ignores him, still busy rambling. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. There’s too many things going on, too many variables, my brains’re too crowded.”

“What’s she talking about?” Judy hisses.

“She does this,” he replies in the same low tone, commiserating. Still playing the human companion, long since numbed to the Doctor’s quirks. “You get used to it eventually, she usually explains.”

The Doctor walks up to one of the TeamMates and gestures at it, like that’s supposed to be an answer.

“These delivery bots, they’ve got teleport circuits,” she says excitedly. “We don’t have to go on the conveyor down to Dispatch if I can just hijack their circuit for one moment…”

She points her sonic screwdriver at the head of the bot, making its eyes light up. The Master sees something move out of the corner of his eye and turns, just as Slade raises a small gun - a laser pistol from the looks of it, not strong enough to kill a Time Lord but certainly enough to make things very unpleasant. If the Master wasn’t holding the stupid robot, his hand would’ve been on his sonic pen in the space of a second, but...

“Move away from the delivery bot,” Slade orders.

“No, Slade, don’t!” she warns, turning from the bot.

It’s too late. With a flash of blue light and a deeply uncomfortable squeezing sensation, they’re teleported to Dispatch.


	56. Kerblam!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part of the Kerblam! arc is here! And this abomination of a fic hit 100k words! Thank you all for sticking with this for so long <3  
> Next up, an interlude where they Finally Talk, Yes For Real This Time

There are very few sensations the Doctor hates more than teleportation. The borderline claustrophobic compression, the disorientating and abrupt perspective change, and the weird gritty aftertaste it always leaves in her mouth all combine to make one thoroughly unpleasant experience. It’s only marginally better than traveling by vortex manipulator, and that’s solely because it doesn’t also send her through the Vortex and screw with her time senses.

Luckily, she’s already lunging for Slade by the time they’re dropped off in Dispatch, so she doesn’t have time to get nauseous before her finger is pressed against his neck and keeping him still.

“Very bad manners to point guns at people,” she remarks, grabbing the laser pistol from his still-outstretched hand. “I’ve never warmed to you.” She releases his neck and tosses the gun away from him. “So, tell us what you’ve done. We saw the list, the names of the victims you’ve targeted. And Charlie knew about it, so you’ve gone after him next.”

Slade looks at her. “What? I’m not  _ targeting _ people, I’m recording them missing!”

“Oh! So it’s not you.” She’ll admit, that one was unexpected.

“No! Something’s wrong with the System, but I don’t know what,” Slade says. “That’s why I had to make sure my notes were analogue. I thought it was you, I’ve been watching you since you arrived.”

“We’re trying to help!” the Doctor protests.

“So am I, but what am I supposed to do? There’s no one to report this to, no one to stop it - there’s only the System!”

“There’s me,” Judy says. “I’m responsible for every person here, you could have told me.”

“I didn’t know whether I could trust you,” Slade argues. “I still don’t.”

“Um, Doctor, I think you should see this,” Kira calls. “There’s this sort of goo, and a bunch of GroupLoops.”

Kira’s standing by an open concrete container, filled nearly to the brim with a shiny black liquid. The Doctor’s quick scan with her screwdriver yields some very worrying, and very organic, results.

“I think these are the remnants of the missing workers,” she says quietly. Glancing upwards confirms her suspicions. “We’re under a vast liquidization tank.”

Faintly, she hears Kira begin to cry.

“The robots are kidnapping people and then turning them into… this?” O says incredulously.

“What I don’t understand is why-” the Doctor turns, beginning to pace, and catches sight of something far more worrying than the tank of formerly-human goo. She inhales sharply.

The level that she’s standing one descends one lower via a staircase, giving way to the sight in front of her. Stretching off beyond her line of sight and into the darkness, in neat and orderly rows, stand thousands of TeamMates. Each one’s eyes are dark, and in their hands they all hold a cardboard box bearing Kerblam’s logo. For a brief moment, she’s reminded of Cybermen, but she tries to shake it off. She knows these things have never once been living, though their AI might come close. Still, she can’t help the way her hearts speed up and her stomach clenches at the sight.

“It’s like an army,” O gasps, which really doesn’t help.

Footsteps echo off the towering walls, and Charlie comes running up the stairs. The Doctor can see a small, circular device clutched in his hand. His face is pale and panicked-looking.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!” he shouts. “The System’s been fighting back against me. Kira wasn’t supposed to see this,  _ you _ weren’t meant to interfere, nobody was going to notice until it was too late!”

“Know what, Charlie?” the Doctor asks, her voice as calm as she can force it.

“I needed test subjects,” he mutters, not quite in response to her question. “Needed to be sure the detonation force was right, wasn’t sure it would work in such small concentrations.”

Slowly, the Doctor begins to piece things together. There’s thousands of unique items in the hands of those robots, so it can’t be a specific product - it has to be something found in each and every box. “You turned the bubble wrap into bombs.”

“What? Charlie, how do you know this stuff?” Judy asks.

“I lied on my application!” he snaps, gesturing with what the Doctor assumes to be a detonator. “Gave you a sob story so you’d let me in and you bought it! I’ve studied cybernetics, teleportation, explosives. I have  _ worked _ for this!”

That would explain the parts in maintenance storage, then, and his reluctance to let her get a good look at them. Not for repairing the robots, but hacking them, hijacking their programming. His hesitation to get Twirly involved wasn’t fear of Slade, but fear that his interference would get noticed. Then he’d tried to warn Kira, and when she hadn’t accepted his offer, he’d stormed down here to send off the bombs early. But why?

“I don’t understand,” Judy says, shaking her head slightly.

“Ten percent,” Charlie snaps. “They want us to be grateful that ten percent of people get to work. What about the other ninety percent? What about  _ our _ futures? Because without action, next time it will be seven percent, then five, then one!” He pauses, taking in a gasping breath, and then looks at Judy and says, “I am stronger than you. I am not going to stand by and accept it. People like me, we change things. We make things happen.”

Now it’s starting to make sense, and now the Doctor is getting angry. “Even if it costs people’s lives. You kill a load of customers at Kerblam, let the systems take the fall for it. Erode people’s trust in automation. Make people angry.”

“Imperfect technology without a conscience,” he nods. “Machines malfunction, it’s what they do!”

“Except Kerblam’s system does have a conscience,” the Doctor argues. “It’s been fighting you, Charlie, it knew it. It sent a message across the galaxy begging for help. That TeamMate in Slade’s office was coming for you! And you’re very, very lucky Kira stayed with us this whole time, because I’ll bet that without our protection they would have taken her, too.”

At that, Charlie’s eyes widen, and his hand clutching the detonator lowers. Perhaps that’s her chance, her opening to get through to him.

“Imagine how it would feel for you to lose Kira,” she pleads. “That’s how it would feel for all those innocent people’s families and friends if they died because of your plan.”

He looks on the verge of tears. “No! No. If that’s the price to change how everyone on Kandoka sees technology, then it is worth it!”

“Technology isn’t the problem, it’s the people who misuse it,” the Doctor says firmly. “People like you, Charlie.”

She pauses, hoping that this will finally get him to listen. Instead, Charlie sneers.

“I don’t care what you think.” He raises the detonator again. “The delivery goes ahead.”

Then there’s a burst of light, and for a moment the Doctor thinks it’s the glow of thousands of teleports. When her vision clears, she sees she was wrong; where Charlie stood, there’s only the detonator lying on the concrete floor. She whirls around to see the Master - and he is most certainly the Master, the grin on his face is far too sharp to be human - with his sonic pen in hand.

“Sorry, love, but I figured this was one you wouldn’t really mind,” he says, not sounding apologetic in the least. Despite that, hearing  _ his _ voice again sends her hearts soaring. “Good of the many, and all that.”

There’s so many things the Doctor wants to say to him. ‘How dare you?’ seems like a good one, or maybe ‘Why are you like this?’ Of course, ‘I’m sorry’ is the obvious choice, but perhaps a bit too intimate for when there’s still a crowd of extremely confused humans.

“I’m going to kill you,” is what she says instead.

He laughs. “No, you aren’t. If you were, you’d have done it by now.”

“Sorry, what just happened?” Slade asks. “You’re not O, so who the hell are you?”

“Hi, I’m the Master.” He waves, that obnoxious grin still on his lips. “I’m the Doctor’s - what was it you wanted me to call us? Oh, yes - the Doctor’s frenemy.”

“Did you just  _ kill _ Charlie?” Judy demands.

“Yup!” he says, popping the ‘p’. “There was no way he was going to give up, even if it killed him, so I just cut out the dramatic middle bit where he activated the robots and we had to scramble to fix it. You’re welcome,” he adds.

Relief and anger war for control in the Doctor’s mind. Instead of addressing them, she kneels down to grab the detonator off the floor, and quickly deactivates it with her sonic. The immediate threat taken care of, she turns back to the Master. His grin has faded slightly, and there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, searching for her approval beneath the confidence.

Oh, she feels like an idiot. This whole human charade of his has been one long, desperate grab for her affection, because he thought she was mad at  _ him _ for the Morax. When she had won their fight, and by extension their bet, he had taken it as a sign that she didn’t want him with her.

“Right, everyone, we need to get rid of this bubble wrap,” the Doctor says quickly. She can deal with her emotions later. “Not quite sure how we’re going to do that. I did disable the detonator, so we don’t need to worry about that.”

“We can have the TeamMates dispose of it, somewhere it won’t hurt anyone,” Judy says, sounding shaken. “I’ll take care of it. But, I do think we should get out of here.”

The Doctor nods, then begins heading for the stairs. She can hear the footsteps as the others follow her, and soon she’s standing in front of one of the many TeamMates, her sonic pointed at its head for a repeat performance of the teleport from earlier.

One very unpleasant moment later, they’re all back in the lobby. For how much has happened since they were last there, it’s exactly the same. Which, the Doctor knows, it has every right to be - none of the important events occurred in it. Still, it’s an odd feeling that never quite goes away, no matter how often it hits her.

The sound of Kira crying breaks the silence. Tears are streaming down her face and her shoulders are heaving with suppressed sobs. Judy rushes to pull the girl into a hug, while the Doctor stands off to the side trying not to seem as awkward as she feels.

“It’s stupid,” Kira manages through her tears. “We weren’t even really friends, but he seemed so lonely and I didn’t want to be rude and now he’s  _ dead _ and he tried to  _ kill people _ and I almost died and… I- I don’t know if I can work here but I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I could take you somewhere,” the Doctor offers. Given that she traumatized the poor girl, it seems only fair. “Anywhere and anywhen in the universe. ‘S the least I can do.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the Master roll his eyes. Probably annoyed that she picked up another stray human, though she’s sure it’s only for a short while. Kira, for all her kindness and unexpected bravery, doesn’t have that spark of wanderlust that the Doctor looks for.

“Th- thank you.” A teary smile spreads across her face. “You’ve been so nice to me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Well, I do,” Judy says. “From now on, I’m going to work to make Kerblam a people-led company. Majority organics. People, I mean.”

The Doctor smiles. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Kira, do you have anything you need to grab?”

“No, I- I don’t have much.” Kira wipes away the last of her tears. “I’m ready to go now, I suppose.”

“Brilliant! Then come on, I have something I think you’re really going to like.”

With that, the Doctor turns and heads for the doors. The shine of reflected light from Kandoka illuminates the surface of the moon even at night, casting a gentle pink light over the rocky surface. Without thinking, she reaches out for the Master’s hand, and he grabs it. She can feel her hearts relax at that - though she knows they’ll have to talk about what happened, for now she can just enjoy the feeling of his hand in hers. It may not be perfect, but now, in the planetshine and the cool air, it's enough.  



	57. Interlude: Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than usual, but I doubt you guys will mind - it packs an emotional punch!

Introducing someone new to the TARDIS is one of the Doctor’s favorite things. The way their eyes light up with awe and delight, followed almost invariably by “It’s bigger on the inside!” and a stunned sort of glee, never ceases to entertain her. Kira is no disappointment on this front. She had been a little hesitant to enter at first, but once she did…

“This is amazing!” Kira exclaims, looking around the console room with wide eyes. “It’s- it’s bigger in here than it was out there. How did you do this?”

“Dimensional engineering,” the Doctor explains. “She’s called the TARDIS. Stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.”

“Wow,” Kira breathes. “How many more rooms are there?”

The Doctor scronches. “Not entirely sure, to be honest. Somewhere between three hundred and three thousand, last I counted, but most of them are shoe closets for some reason. That or bathrooms. Or bedrooms. There’s a lot of rooms.”

“Can I- I mean, is it okay if I explore a bit?” Kira asks. “I promise not to touch anything I shouldn’t, or anything like that.”

“Oh, sure!” the Doctor says, seeing the chance to be alone with the Master and taking it. “She should keep you away from anything too dangerous or fragile. And steer clear of the rainforest for now, I think there’s still predatory parrots in there, and they’re _very_ opportunistic.”

Kira looks mildly concerned by that, but then it shifts to a grin and she heads deeper into the ship. As soon as she’s gone, the Doctor turns to the Master.

“We need to talk,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow. “If you want to kick me off, just say so.”

“Not like that, you know what I mean,” she sighs. “About what happened with… all that.”

“Fine. But not here.”

The Doctor nods. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t really want to have this conversation in the console room either. It feels too open, too revealing for the way she knows she’s going to have to bare her hearts if this is going to end well. And she really wants it to end well. As much as this body hates communicating - no, as much as the Doctor hates communicating, full stop - she hates the thought of that awful distance between them more.

She decides on the library, and if the Master has any objections, he doesn’t voice them. After locking the doors and asking the TARDIS to keep them that way, just in case Kira wanders too close and gets curious, the Doctor sprawls across an overstuffed armchair. The Master is laid out on a couch opposite her, leaning so he can meet her eyes.

When a minute passes without either of them speaking, the Doctor decides to make the sacrifice and go first.

“I wasn’t mad at you for killing the Morax,” she says. “I was angry at myself for not finding another way to do it that didn’t involve killing them, but I didn’t mean to make you think that I blamed you.”

“I… may have overreacted,” the Master manages, though he sounds pained by the words. “When I woke up you were gone, and then you started acting as though I was the one at fault for trying to protect you, and I reacted poorly. I lashed out because I felt out of control.”

“Have you been reading the therapy textbooks in here?” the Doctor asks before she can help herself.

“Not the point, Doctor,” he snaps.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right.” She tries to think of something else to say - or rather, to sort the right thing to say out of the mess of thoughts in her head. “I shouldn’t have accepted the bet, but I wanted some way to take out my anger at myself, I guess.”

“I only proposed it because I thought that was what you wanted,” he says quietly. “That you’d rather have another human around than me.”

That has the Doctor jolting upright in her seat. “What? No! Why would I- not that I don’t love my companions, but- you’re _you_.”

He gives her a look like she’s only proven his point. “Exactly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, baffled.

“Doctor, I’ve spent most of our lives trying to kill, maim, or otherwise hurt you and your companions. There is no reason you’d want me with you, except guilt or to keep the universe safe.” He sighs, and there’s something so achingly sad in his eyes that she wants to hug him. “You don’t need to pretend.”

Something occurs to her, glaringly obvious now. “You weren’t joking when you said that if I wanted to kick you out I should just say it, were you?”

He shakes his head.

“Wait, why do you think we’ve been traveling together?”

“Like I said, keeping the universe safe.” He says it as though it were obvious.

The Doctor pauses, not quite sure how to continue. She could offer him platitudes about how that had nothing to do with it, but he knows her more than well enough to spot the lie in seconds. In the end, she decides to tell the truth.

“That was part of it, at the beginning, sure. But I told you back on Desolation that if you wanted to leave, I wouldn’t stop you, and you chose to stay. I thought you were happy here.” If all this, all their adventures and late nights spent talking and the Master caring for her after her ectospleen injury, had been because he thought she wouldn’t let him leave… the Doctor’s not sure if she could handle that.

Somehow, his eyes grow bigger. “I am. Doctor, you know this is what I’ve always wanted, don’t you? Not quite happy that it’s not us ruling the universe together, but…” He laughs, though it doesn’t sound quite humorous. “I learned a long time ago that wasn’t going to happen.”

“I’ve wanted this, too,” she whispers. “The two of us, seeing every star, just like we promised as kids. These past months have been some of the best I’ve had, and even if it all falls apart later, I don’t think I’ll regret them. But I don’t want it to fall apart.”

“Neither do I,” he says.

The Doctor’s mind is bursting with other things she wants to say, but she can’t find the right words for it. It would be so much easier if she didn’t have to _speak_. She stands and moves awkwardly closer to the Master’s couch, then sinks to her knees so they’re on the same level.

“Can we- I’m bad at words this time around. And I missed having you in my head.” She doesn’t quite ask for what she wants, _needs_ , but the Master seems to understand.

He reaches his hand out to touch her face, so gently she can hardly bear it. His palm is warm against her cheek as he pushes himself up onto his elbow, pressing his forehead to hers. In an instant, his mind is against hers, open and welcoming like the comforting darkness of a warm summer night. She can feel herself relax as her mind sinks into his, her shields shifting to let him in to hers in turn. It’s barely been a day without this, and yet she’s missed it to an unspeakable degree.

As soon as their minds are tangled together again, she can feel him sorting gently through her feelings. It’s an odd sensation, like feeling someone run their fingers over her spine and counting the vertebrae. At first, it’s with an attempt at distance, but when he hits the messy knot of lovehatewant _longing_ that makes up her feelings for him, he drops the neutrality in favor of something almost akin to adoration.

Uncomfortable as it is to be known like this, to let him see all the complicated thoughts and apologies and memories her mind files under ‘the Master’, it’s almost a relief to not have to say it all instead. Belatedly, she realizes that he’s waiting for her to do the same.

She begins looking into his mind, and _oh_. Buried under layers of plans and half-faded rage is a love that’s close to being overpowering. Wrapped around it like a net are lines of self-doubt, an aching certainty that he doesn’t deserve this. Too tight and dug in for her to get rid of in one conversation, but now that she knows they’re there, a lot of things make more sense.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she thinks. “ _For staying, for helping me, for being willing to do all of this. This is what I wanted back with…_ ”

Though she doesn’t finish the thought, the way her mind conjures up Missy, the Vault, seven long decades spent trying to change is more than enough to get the idea across.

“ _Well, it worked out in the end. Mostly._ ” The Master sends back a sense of fondness, a mishmash of memories from their various adventures. The Doctor tries not to notice how many of them are the few times he’s gotten to kill something or the glimpses he’d caught of her taunting King James.

The Doctor smiles. “ _Just the two of us against the universe forever, huh?_ ”

“ _F_ _orever sounds about right_ ,” the Master agrees.

Gallifreyan doesn’t have a word for ‘forever’ or ‘always’. The closest thing it comes to approaching ‘ever’ is something that translates to, roughly, ‘for as far into the future as would be reasonable to assume’. It is not a language, nor even a culture, built for promises beyond business deals and contracts. Being able to live for so long that most civilizations become obsolete, longer than some suns, longer than any ‘forever’ has truly lasted, will do that.

One of the first things Theta had done, the first time they had stolen a TARDIS with Koschei’s help and gone to Earth by sheer chance, was take advantage of humanity’s obsession with permanence - a concept akin to a joke on Gallifrey - to promise him forever. An alien concept, in an alien language, while eating alien food in an alien location. It never should have held. And yet, thousands of years, countless arguments and fights and deaths and experiences later, they were still together. Perhaps it won’t quite be forever, but it’s the closest anything in the universe has gotten.


	58. Soil Snack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted way, way later in the day than usual, because I spent most of my evening dyeing my hair blue! Anyways, here's part one of It Takes You Away, featuring mentions of our boy Georg

“Did you know there’s a huge spider in one of your rooms?”

Kira’s questions breaks the peaceful silence of the library. The Doctor’s not quite sure when she dozed off sprawled on top of the Master, but the panicked flailing they both do upon Kira’s intrusion quickly sends them to the floor instead.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” Kira squeaks. “Sorry, I’ll just- I’ll just go.”

The Doctor manages to pull herself to her feet, brushing herself off. “No, no, it’s fine! Don’t worry about the spider, that’s just Georg, he’s friendly. A little too friendly, if you ask Ryan. Oh! I should probably find you somewhere to go, shouldn’t I?”

“If- if it’s no trouble,” Kira says. “I don’t want to be intruding.”

“Bit late for that,” the Master mutters, just loud enough for the Doctor to hear. She gives him a look.

“Well, I can take you anywhere in the universe. Any requests?” the Doctor asks.

Kira shakes her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start… I’ve never been anywhere further than Kandoka or the Kerblam warehouse. Never even thought about it.”

“That’s alright! Why don’t we let the TARDIS pick, hmm?” The Doctor’s headed past Kira and out into the hall before she can reply.

Once she’s in the console room, the Doctor sets about choosing a random set of coordinates, being careful to filter anywhere too risky. In fact, she specifically narrows the search to the most boring, human-friendly places she can think of - though that list isn’t very long, since she makes a point to avoid them most of the time.

When she pulls open the doors to find herself in front of Yaz’s apartment complex, she gets the distinct feeling the TARDIS is making some sort of point. The Doctor promptly closes the doors, turns around, and walks back to the console. She tries to take off again, to no avail, though it produces a deeply irritating grinding noise as the TARDIS protests. For whatever reason, the ship seems set on keeping them right where they are.

“Is your ship throwing a temper tantrum again?” the Master asks, leaning against the doorway into the halls.

“She’s not throwing a temper tantrum,” the Doctor snaps. “I’m sure she has a reason. She normally does.”

Then she turns away from the Master to address the TARDIS. Though she knows the ship can hear her from anywhere, and that she doesn’t even  _ really _ need to speak to be heard, the crystalline pillar in the center of the console makes a good target.

“I was going to pick them up as soon as I found somewhere for Kira,” the Doctor says.

The crystal pulses once.

“Yes, I  _ know _ you like them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have more than one trip on my own!”

Another, slightly more pointed, pulse.

“Well, where should Kira stay, then? She can’t just live here!”

Three pulses now, and a slight hue shift towards green.

“... I guess that might work.” The Doctor turns to face Kira, who’s standing by the steps and looking rather baffled by the exchange. “Kira, how do you feel about twenty-first century Earth? Living there, I mean.”

“Er, neutral? I don’t know much about it, but it doesn’t sound bad,” Kira says. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but were you talking to your ship?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” the Doctor asks. “Since you haven’t got any objections, Earth, 2018 it is.”

After one phone call to Grace, some brief negotiating with the TARDIS to allow a quick hop over to Grace and Graham’s flat, and a round of introductions, Kira is settled in at the O’Brien household, at least for a little while. Kira and Ryan had hit it off immediately, which the Doctor’s pretty sure is a good sign.

The TARDIS landed on the Friday following the trip to Pendle Hill, so once Kira’s taken care of the Doctor decides to jump forward a week or so to give everyone time to adjust. That takes another round of negotiating, plus some reassurances that the Doctor is going to pick up her companions this time, she  _ promises _ . The TARDIS, rather reluctantly, allows it.

When she arrives in front of Yaz’s apartment, on purpose this time, all four humans are waiting for her. That’s… mildly concerning for the Doctor. Usually she beats them there.

“Am I late again? How bad was it? I asked her to just move us a week ahead, but she’s kind of snippy right now, so she might’ve not listened,” the Doctor rambles.

“Nah, you’re on time, we just got here a bit early,” Graham says.

The Doctor relaxes and beckons her humans into the TARDIS. “Right! So, how’s Kira doing? She fitting in okay?”

Strangely, it’s Yaz who answers. “She’s good! I helped her find a job at the shopping center.”

“They’ve been hanging out a lot,” Ryan says conspiratorially. Yaz hits him in the arm for that.

“Does anyone have any requests for where we should go?” the Doctor asks, turning and already messing with the console.

“I was thinking Norway,” Grace says. “Always wanted to go, but me and Graham have never found the time.”

That’s good enough for the Doctor. “Norway it is! I love Norway. Wonderful nature.”

Luckily, the TARDIS seems to have gotten out of her funk, so the Doctor’s fairly certain they land where she meant to land them. Still, just to be sure, as soon as the ship settles and she’s outside, she grabs a handful of soil and sticks some in her mouth. It’s got a good texture, a nice blend of sand and clay without being too gritty. Hardly any minerals, though, which is disappointing.

“Definitely Norway,” she confirms. “One of the frilly bits on the top.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Grace says, taking in everything around her with wide eyes.

“Is that an alien thing, or a Doc thing?” Graham asks the Master in a stage whisper.

The Master looks resigned. “It is most certainly a Doctor thing. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten dirt in my life.”

“That,” the Doctor says, standing and taking another bite of soil, “is because you’re no fun. Now come on, there’s an alpaca farm a couple miles away with a gift shop!”

“There’s also a house down there,” Ryan notes, pointing down the hill.

True to his word, at the foot of the hill, and bordering a sizable lake, is a house. It’s large and seems well-constructed, but something about it feels off. After a moment, it hits her. There’s enough of a chill that Yaz ducked back into the TARDIS to grab her jacket, and yet...

“A cottage in Norway, in winter, with a chimney but no smoke,” she muses.

“Could be a holiday let,” Graham offers.

The Doctor scronches in doubt. “Maybe. Should we take a walk?”

Faint honking of geese accompanies them as they head down the hill. The Doctor keeps her hand in the Master’s the entire time, while she rambles about the Wooly Rebellion - a serious threat - after a particularly bold sheep startles her.

When they reach the foot of the hill and the house comes into view, more things feel off about it. Wooden boards are nailed haphazardly over the places the windows presumably sit, leaving only tiny gaps for light to filter in. Almost certainly not a vacation destination, then.

“Oh, look at that,” Graham remarks. “Someone got a bit overexcited with the DIY.”

“That’s not a repair, that’s a safety measure,” the Master says.

A shiver runs down the Doctor’s spine. Something very, very wrong is involved with this house, she can just tell.

“It looks like it’s been abandoned,” Yaz points out.

As if to prove Yaz wrong, there’s a flash of movement from one of the boarded-up windows, a silhouette of a hand pressed against it for a half-second. Just as quickly, it’s gone again, but the Doctor is certain there’s more going on.

“Hey, did you see that?” Ryan asks. “Someone’s in there.”

The Doctor sets off at a light jog towards the house, circling around until she finds a door. The small, triangular window set in the wood isn’t boarded up, so she takes a quick peek inside. Her breath fogs on the glass as she looks for anything that might indicate someone inside. She sees a possible living room, furniture clearly used, but no sign of anyone. After a few seconds of nothing, she knocks on the door, a quick one-two-three-four that has the Master raising his eyebrow at her.

“Anyone in?” she calls.

Still no reply. She turns to her companions and brandishes her sonic.

“Quick look, to set our minds at rest?” she offers.

They all nod. When she unlocks the door, she hears three distinct clicks as deadbolts undo themselves, which seems slightly excessive in her opinion.

“Three locks on a deserted house in the middle of nowhere,” she mutters, stepping inside. As she does, she spots a collection of shoes, most only large enough for a child. Weirder and weirder.

“Maybe there’s something out there, waiting to eat us,” the Master suggests, only half-joking.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be in here,” Ryan says. The Doctor ignores him, because that’s an absurd thing to suggest and he really should have learned better by now.

Yaz must have seen the shoes as well, because she whispers, “There’s a child in this house.”

“Or some maniac who collects kids’ shoes,” Graham adds.

There’s the distinct and pointed silence of Grace giving Graham a look. The plates on the table look recently used, and there’s no dust on anything in the kitchen. Someone’s still in the house.

“You four, go look upstairs,” the Doctor orders.

Her humans nod and head for the stairs, leaving the Doctor and the Master alone in the kitchen. She opens the fridge, and though the light seems broken, there’s a few things in there.

“What do you think, a picky eater or someone who can’t leave for fear of getting eaten themselves?” the Master asks.

The Doctor shakes her head. “Not sure, but it’s starting to look like the second one.”

A moment later, she hears Ryan and Yaz yelp. Never a moment of quiet, the Doctor thinks, before running for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! If you're interested in some Yaz/Kira(Yazira?) fluff, I wrote a little drabble that takes place in the week between Kira being dropped off and the actual start of It Takes You Away. It's called Hears You Nearby, Speaking Softly, and you can find it in the same series as this fic!


	59. Tingen i Skogen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is "The Thing in the Woods" in Norwegian, because it seemed fitting. For once, I'm posting at the time that I mean to! Yay for preparedness!  
> Also, I wrote some Yaz/Kira fluff, if anyone's interested. Check the series page if so, it's called Hears You Nearby, Speaking Softly!

The terrifying creature that had so greatly startled Ryan and Yaz turns out to be a small human, maybe in their early teens, curled up inside a wardrobe and clutching a baseball bat. A scarf is pulled up around their face, which, along with the sunglasses they’re wearing, obscures their face almost entirely. Grace is knelt down, speaking quietly to them.

“Are you okay?” Grace asks.

Slowly, they nod.

“You’re not hungry, are you?” Graham says. “‘Cause these days, I always carry a cheese and pickle sarnie. You know, just for emergencies.”

He reaches into his pocket and produces exactly that. Despite the dubious quality of the food, it seems to be enough to entice the teenager out of their wardrobe. When they grab the sandwich from Graham, there’s a moment of fumbling before they get a proper grasp on it. Maybe it’s just due to the sunglasses they’re wearing, even in the dim light of the house, but the Doctor files it away anyways.

“Why don’t we all come downstairs, and you can eat there, in the kitchen,” Grace offers.

Another slow nod from the teenager, and then they start heading for the stairs. They bump into Yaz and startle, but when Yaz says, “Oh, no, you’re fine!” they keep going. Another strange thing the Doctor makes a note of.

Downstairs, seated at the kitchen table, the teenager pushes the scarf down so it’s instead around her neck. She devours the sandwich in a few swift bites, like it’s the first real food she’s had in a long time. Given the sparse contents of the fridge the Doctor had seen, that might not be too far from the truth.

“You carry sandwiches with you every time you leave the TARDIS?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned the hard way, ain’t I?” Graham replies. “I mean, we can go a long time without eating, and I get a bit cranky with the old low blood sugar level. Now, I always come prepared.”

Grace smiles approvingly at Graham, and Ryan gives a ‘fair enough’ sort of nod.

“Who are you people, and how did you get in our house?” the girl asks.

“I’m the Doctor, this is the Master, Yaz, Ryan, Grace, and Graham.” The Doctor gestures at each person in turn. “We were out walking, and we got a bit worried something was wrong in here. When you say ‘our house’, who lives here with you?”

The girl doesn’t reply, so the Doctor tries another question. She tries to be polite with it - she doesn’t want to spook her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s got you so scared?”

Before speaking, the girl pushes her sunglasses back up her nose. “The thing.”

The Doctor shares a worried look with her companions.

“What thing, sweetheart?” Yaz asks.

“The thing my dad was defending the house from. It got in and took him.”

That would explain the wooden boards over all the windows, covering the structural weaknesses of the house. But honestly, the ‘thing’ could be anything. The Doctor needs more information.

“What did this thing look like?” she asks.

Instead of answering, the girl stands and takes the plate she’d put Graham’s sandwich on to the sink. Her free hand trails along the edge of the counter until it hits the sink, and there’s a sort of hesitance to her movements that, combined with the other things the Doctor’s noticed, leads to a very specific conclusion.

The Doctor stands and moves behind the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Hanne.”

“Are you blind, Hanne?”

Hanne turns, taking off her sunglasses. Her eyes are pale and unfocused. She looks terrified.

“Please,” she says. “Help me find my dad.”

The Doctor can hardly say no to that. “Of course we will. Don’t worry. Now, what can you tell us about the thing that took him?”

Hanne hesitates. “It is better if I take you outside, first.”

Outside, Hanne leads them to the very edge of the clearing the house sits in, bordering the forest. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but the Doctor’s seen far worse things come with far less warning.

“I heard the thing out here before I went to sleep, and in the morning, my dad was gone,” Hanne explains.

“You don’t know it actually got in?” Ryan asks. “How do you know your dad didn’t just… pack up and go?”

“Ryan Sinclair!” Grace scolds.

“My dad would  _ never _ just leave me!” Hanne snaps. “Okay?”

Ryan looks apologetic. “Okay! How long’s he been gone?”

“Four days.”

There’s a moment of silence. The Doctor has more questions, of course, but none that Hanne will really be able to answer. Finally, Yaz breaks the quiet.

“Love your top,” she says, smiling. “I’m from Sheffield, same as the Arctic Monkeys. My cousin saw their first ever gig.”

“My mum saw their first gig in Norway,” Hanne replies. “This t-shirt was hers.”

That raises more questions for the Doctor. If there’s another parent in the picture, then why hadn’t Hanne mentioned her? Divorce, perhaps, or something more complicated?

“Where is your mum, Hanne?” she asks.

“She died.”

Hence the past tense. She should have realized. “I’m sorry to hear that, you must miss her.”

“All the time,” Hanne says. “So does my dad.”

“Of course,” Grace agrees. “Now, what does your dad do? Is it possible he just left for work, and got hurt or stuck somewhere?”

Hanne shakes her head. “He quit work when we left Oslo. And our boat’s still here, I walked down and checked.”

A faint beeping breaks the still air. Hanne presses her fingers to the face of the watch on her left wrist, reading the raised Braille on its surface.

“We need to get inside,” she says urgently. “It always comes out around now.”

“The same time every day?” the Doctor asks. That’s certainly not normal.

“That’s when it hunts,” Hanne explains, before turning and heading back to the house.

“Poor kid,” Graham mutters, once Hanne’s out of earshot.

Ryan scoffs. “You’re not buying that. Her dad did a runner, and she’s making this monster stuff up.”

The Doctor’s not quite sure what Ryan’s issue is. She knows, from what little she’s gathered, that Ryan’s father isn’t in the picture anymore, but perhaps something about this is bringing back painful memories. Still, it’s no excuse for him to take it out on Hanne.

“Let’s not make any assumptions,” she says firmly. “You lot, check out the shed. The Master and I will take a closer look ‘round the house. Don’t be out here too long.”

Nodding, the humans set off for the small shed to the side of the house. Between the four of them, the Doctor’s fairly sure they’ll be fine. Hopefully.

Inside, Hanne’s sitting in one of the chairs in the living room. She’s tense, as if waiting for something to happen.

“Hanne, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask a few questions,” the Doctor calls.

Turning to face her, Hanne says, “What do you want to know?”

“When did you guys move here?” She decides to start with an easy one. If the house was older than the occupants, then maybe it was something to do with the location. If it was relatively new, though, the thing that took Hanne’s dad might have followed them or arrived recently.

“A few years ago. My dad wanted a change after my mum died, and it had been empty for ages, so it was cheap.”

In that case, it could have been either…

“Was it your dad who put these boards and locks everywhere?”

Hanne nods. “The day before he disappeared. I told him he was mad. There’s nobody for miles. But he just said there are worse things out there than people.”

“He’s not wrong,” the Master says.

Before the Doctor can ask another question, a low, echoing roar tears through the air. Hanne bolts upright in an instant.

“It’s coming!” she screams.

The Doctor runs for the door, the Master reluctantly behind her - she needs to make sure her companions are alright.


	60. Mirror, Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three of It Takes You Away! Also, I'm sure you're sick of hearing about it so this will be the last time I bring it up, but I wrote some Yaz/Kira fluff if anyone's interested! It's part of the same series as this and titled "Hears You Nearby, Speaking Softly"

“Did you see it?” the Doctor asks, slowing from her run as her companions approach.

Yaz holds up a metal bear trap, the wickedly sharp teeth glinting in the light of the setting sun. “No, but Hanne’s dad did!”

“The shed’s full of ‘em!” Graham adds.

“That’s not normal, even for Norway,” Ryan says, slightly out of breath.

Another roar pierces the air, sending the birds in the forest into panicked flight.

“What is that thing?” the Doctor wonders.

Grace shakes her head. “I don’t know, but it sounds like it’s in the woods.”

The Doctor weighs her options. She could stay outside and try to find the creature - whatever and wherever it is - or she can make sure everyone’s safe inside. As tempting as it is to go rushing into the danger, she doesn’t want to leave her companions defenseless, especially not when there’s a child, scared and alone, in the house. She makes her choice.

“Inside,” she orders, and then takes off back towards the house.

After securing all three deadbolts, which no longer feels excessive, the Doctor begins to plan.

“We need to secure the house. Yaz, Ryan, lock the back door.” The two head for the door as soon as she says it. The Doctor turns. “Graham, take a look out the upstairs window.”

“On it,” he nods.

The Doctor scans the living room and kitchen, looking for Hanne, and spots her curled up beneath the table. She’s muttering something, repeating it over and over. When the Doctor gets closer, she realizes what Hanne’s saying.

“It takes you away, it takes you away,” the girl whispers.

Grace kneels down and lays a hand on Hanne’s arm. “Hanne, it’s okay. We’re all gonna keep you safe. Don’t worry.”

Again, the echoing roar fills the air. Once it’s quiet again, the Doctor calls up the stairs to Graham.

“See anything?”

“Nothing yet!” he shouts back.

Yaz and Ryan, done locking the door, come back into the main room. Their breathing is labored.

“Where’s Graham?” Ryan asks.

“Upstairs, checking the window,” Grace replies, standing from next to the table.

Ryan nods and heads up the stairs. The Doctor turns to Yaz.

“You locked the door?” she says, more a statement than a question.

“Yep.” Yaz confirms. “All four locks, plus the bookshelf that Ryan and me pushed in front of it, just to be safe.”

“Nice work, five points to both of you.” The Doctor pauses. “Was it points or stars?”

Yaz begins to answer, but a high keening noise fills the house before she can. It worms its way into the Doctor’s ears, pressing against her mind and rubbing like sandpaper against her temporal sensitivity. Something is going very wrong upstairs.

She’s up the stairs and into the bedroom before she really even thinks about it, and the Master is right with her. Graham and Ryan are standing in front of a mirror, or at least it’s something that _looks_ like a mirror. The white light it’s emitting and the fluid look to the glass are very not-mirror-like.

“Get away from the mirror, both of you!” The Doctor steps between the two men as Graham pulls back, grasping the hand he’d had pressed to the surface of the not-mirror. She pulls out her sonic and scans the mirror, but as soon as she does, the noise stops and it reverts back to a normal mirror, reflections and all.

“Hey! We’re there!” Graham points at the mirror in shock.

“What just happened?” Ryan asks.

“Not entirely sure,” the Doctor says. “But I really don’t like it.” Turning from the mirror, she faces Graham and Ryan. “Did you see it change? What happened here?”

“And did you touch it?” the Master adds.

“Er, yeah. I did,” Graham replies. “I just heard this noise, I come over to the mirror, and I wasn’t reflected in it!”

The same piercing, undulating noise cuts through the Doctor’s ears. She whirls around to find the mirror. This time, it’s reflecting the bedroom, but not the people.

“There it is again!” Graham says. “And that noise.”

“Nobody move.” The Doctor points her sonic at the mirror again, hoping to catch it before it can change again. In the end, she manages one better. The mirror warps and twists for a second, trying to shift, but it stops before it fully transforms.

“Locked it!” she crows. “Mid-whatever it was doing. Can I just say, I love my sonic?”

“Yes, you’re very impressive, love,” the Master sighs. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but… can you _please_ figure out what that is? It’s extremely annoying.”

“Right, sorry.” Stepping closer to the maybe-mirror, she braces herself on the frame and leans in. “Now, when is a mirror not a mirror?”

With that, she shoves her head into the patch of non-reflective mirror. For the first second, it feels like plunging into freezing cold water on a hot day, pure shock and icy wrongness. But it’s not _cold_ , not really. If cold is the absence of heat, then this feeling is the absence of time, the frozen tundra to the Vortex’s burning sun. The Doctor’s vision blurs, going red at the edges. She catches a glimpse of dark rock and pale light before the ringing in her ears grows too unbearable and she starts to pull herself back out.

When she stumbles backwards, head swimming and pounding with the start of a headache, she lands in the Master’s arms. The feeling of time flowing around her in soothing waves is a welcome relief, as is the beat of his hearts.

“What were you _thinking?_ ” he snaps, even as he moves her back from the mirror. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’m okay!” she protests, then amends it to, “Mostly. Bit of a head wonk, but otherwise I’m totally fine!”

“You just stuck your head into a mysterious portal into Rassilon knows where and came back out radiating-” the Master fumbles for a word, gives an angry sigh, and switches to Gallifreyan, “ _not-this-world!_ You are not fine.”

“It really wasn’t that bad,” the Doctor says, pushing his arms away to stand properly. “Solid seven out of ten, six and a half at a push.”

“ _Stop lying,_ ” he thinks. " _Not to me, Doctor._ ”

She sighs. “ _Fine. I promise, I’m not hurt. Worst I’ll have is a headache._ ”

“What was that?” Grace asks, running up the stairs with Yaz and Hanne behind her. “The whole house was shaking.”

The Doctor turns from the Master to face them. “Hi guys. Lots going on.”

“Was it the thing outside?” Hanne asks.

“No. This mirror in your dad’s bedroom seems to be a portal.”

Yaz gives her a weird look. “When you say ‘portal’…”

“A doorway to another world. Or dimension! Who knows what?” The Doctor shakes her head. “But let me tell you, it _really_ messes you up.”

“What are you talking about?” Hanne demands, her tone verging on panic.

“I know, big thing to find out.” She scronches. “I should have broken it to you a bit more gently. But like I said, head wonk!”

“Whatever’s in the woods, could it have come through this portal?” Graham asks.

The Doctor and the Master share a brief look. They both know the real answer is no; anything that went through that portal would have been giving off just as strong of a weird vibe as the place itself, and that would be detectable for a good few miles. If neither of them felt it when they arrived, chances of the thing in the woods coming through the portal were slim to none. Regardless, there’s still a portal in a bedroom that needs to be investigated, and there’s a chance that, even if it wasn’t the source of the thing, it might be connected.

“Possibly,” the Doctor says. “Don’t know. Didn’t see much. I need to take a proper look.”

Graham grabs her arm as she turns back to the mirror. “Hey, Doc, d’you think it’s safe?”

“I doubt it,” she replies, pulling herself free from his grasp. “It’s a juddering dimensional portal in a Norwegian bedroom.”

“I’m coming with you,” Yaz says.

“Me too.” Graham nods.

“So am I,” Grace adds.

“I’m not staying here,” Ryan says.

“And me,” Hanne insists. “Whatever’s happening, I’m staying with you.”

The Master claps his hands, getting the attention of the humans. “As heartwarming as this display of bullheaded stupidity is, no. This is extremely risky, and I will not be slowed down by a bunch of bumbling idiots.”

“He’s not wrong,” the Doctor says, glaring at the Master. “It’s going to be extremely dangerous in there, wherever it leads, and the fewer people come along the better our chances are of making it back out in one piece. Grace, why don’t you come? The rest of you can stay here and make sure the house is protected. And stay clear of the mirror. Especially you, Graham.”

“Oi, it’s not like I gave it my credit card details or anything!” Graham protests.

The Doctor steps up onto a box, pulls out a piece of chalk and begins writing on the sloping ceiling. She feels a little guilty for doing this to Hanne, but it’s for her own safety. Before she steps down, she takes a look at her message - “Assume her dad is dead. Keep her safe. Find out who else can take care of her.”

“This is a map of the house with its most vulnerable points,” she lies. “Make sure you take care of them.”

Her companions nod, and the Master raises his eyebrows.

“ _Sneaky, love,_ ” he thinks, far more appreciatively than she would like.

“ _Keeping her safe is more important than telling the truth right now_ ,” she replies. Maybe if she thinks it hard enough, it will start to feel true. Then she shoves the feeling down into her gut - no time to feel guilty right now.

“What’s your dad’s name, Hanne?” she asks, bending so she’s roughly level with the girl.

“Erik,” Hanne replies. She pauses for a second, then asks, quietly, “You will find him, won’t you?”

“I’ll do everything I can,” the Doctor promises.

She straightens up, grabs the Master’s hand, and heads for the mirror. Grace is just behind them. Once she’s facing the mirror, she takes a deep breath to steel her nerves, and then steps into the freezing abyss.


	61. Ribbons and Bows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of the It Takes You Away arc! Featuring creepy moths and mirror realms

The place behind the mirror is cold, a biting chill that seeps in through the Doctor’s coat and sticks to her skin. Most of the blame can be placed on the mist that fills the rocky space, obscuring everything more than a few inches away from view if the darkness didn’t do it already; some of it, however, is due to the wrongness of the way time passes. For the first few gasping seconds, she thought it was just slower than it should be, but there’s something more going on here. She just isn’t sure _what_.

“Some sort of space-time portal has latched on to that mirror,” she mutters as she creeps through the mist. Her hand grasps the Master’s tightly. “But it shouldn’t look like that!”

Cutting through the fog and darkness that fill the cavernous tunnel are beams of bright light, seemingly without source or purpose. They shine strange, almost geometric, patterns onto the tops of the grey walls at angles that make no sense. It’s like looking at the shadow cast by a stained-glass window, but warped and twisted, thrown out of proportion.

“All these weird shards of light.” She shakes her head. “It’s like the portal’s been pulled in half. By rights, we should have stepped into another world.”

“This _is_ another world,” Grace says, awed.

Just to be sure, the Doctor does a quick scan of the place. She knows the answer before she looks at the results, but it’s nice to have confirmation.

“Not according to my readings.”

“Doctor,” the Master whispers. “Look, light.”

She follows his gaze, to a patch of bloody red light reflecting off the damp rock. It’s different than the other lights, more organic, and hopefully that means there’s someone there with it. Before she moves towards it, she reaches into an inner pocket of her coat and pulls out a ball of twine.

“Let’s make sure we can find our ways back,” she says, tying the end in a loop and wrapping it around a small protrusion of rock. After making sure the ball will unravel properly, she tucks it back into her pocket.

The Master raises his eyebrows. “String, Doctor? Really?”

“It works!” she protests. “Grace, stay close.”

As she rounds the corner, the red begins to suffuse the mist, turning it into a sea of swirling pink. A low grunting noise breaks the eerie silence. Crouched on an outcropping of rocks is a humanoid figure tearing chunks out of… something. Above them hangs a glowing red lantern, tethered like a balloon.

“Hi, sorry to bother you!” The Doctor steps closer to the figure, keeping her tone as cheerful as she can manage on the off-chance they're friendly. They turn toward her, bare their teeth, and sink into the mist. “Have you seen either a very large creature heading that way, or a Norwegian human, possibly heading the other way? Name of Erik. The human. His daughter’s missing him.”

The figure reemerges from the mist near one of the walls, eyeing the group suspiciously. Now that she can see them clearly, the Doctor takes note of their face - the skin is ridged and patterned in a way that she doesn’t recognize. They have a belt tied around their waist carrying several dead rat-like creatures.

“Such tragedy. Makes me… hungry.” The creature grins. “No.”

She doesn’t really know what she expected, but she had hoped they would be a bit more helpful. “Fine, if you can’t help us, can we have your lantern? ‘Cause you seem to have a monopoly on light here.”

The creature shakes their head. “No charity. Only trade.”

The Master steps towards the lantern, one hand extended to touch it, and the creature lunges for him, a jagged knife in their hands. If the Master had been slower to react, the point of the knife would be against his throat; quick reflexes mean it instead ends up pointed at empty air, with the Master pointing his sonic pen at the creature.

“Lantern not-” they start, and then they drop into a low bow. “Sir, my name is Ribbons of the Seven Stomachs. I so want your tubular.” They rise from the bow, eyes fixed on the Master’s sonic. “Because Ribbons did see the man you seek, trade is now possible! With this tubular, you can buy this _tasty_ information. Plus, one lantern.”

“What did he look like, this man?” the Doctor asks.

Ribbons makes a face. “None of your business. You do not have the tubular.”

“I think it’s in your best interest to answer her,” the Master says, feigning politeness. “Otherwise, you might find that I don’t want to trade.”

That seems to be enough to change Ribbons’ mind. “No horns, one mouth. So ugly, like you. But such nice, big boots.”

The Doctor nods - at least Erik is probably still alive, then. “Was anyone with him? Or any _thing_?”

“You find when I take you,” Ribbons says, before turning back to the Master. “But only with payment. Tubular, please? Now.”

“Payment on delivery,” the Master replies. “And give the knife to me.”

Reluctantly, Ribbons hands over the knife. They hold their hands up in a show of innocence as they walk over to where the lantern is tethered.

“Doctor, if Erik’s alive, do you think he might still be trapped here?” Grace whispers.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor says. “If this place doesn’t lead anywhere else, it’s possible. But, if I’m right and this is more of a- a middle ground, between two halves of a broken portal, then there should be another place connected.”

“Important to stay quiet, friends,” Ribbons warns, intruding on the conversation without seeming to care. They hand the string of the lantern to Grace. “Here, light. In good faith. Follow Ribbons to missing daddy.”

Ribbons turns and walks into the mist. The Doctor follows them, the Master and Grace behind her. The headache that had started after she first stuck her head into the portal has come back with full force now, the prolonged exposure to such a _wrong_ place not helping in the least. To make matters worse, she’s almost certain Ribbons is taking the most roundabout and convoluted path possible to wherever they’re going. While she hasn’t crossed her own string yet, the sheer number of winding lefts and rights seem redundant.

“ _Is it just me, or does it feel like we’re being led into a trap?_ ” she thinks.

“ _Oh, definitely,_ ” the Master agrees. Though the thought is full of sarcastic cheer, there’s an undertone of genuine concern there. “ _I’ve been keeping track of our path, and we’ve nearly doubled up on ourselves at least four times by now._ ”

Finally, the Doctor asks, “Where exactly are you taking us, Ribbons?"

“Relax,” Ribbons says. “Enjoy Ribbons.”

“Oh, we are,” she mutters. Then, because there’s not much else to talk about, “So, tell us about these lanterns you’re so proud of.”

“My design,” they reply. “The only light here.”

“Where is here?” the Doctor inquires.

“Information is sadly _so_ expensive,” Ribbons sighs. “You don’t have such credit.”

So it must be important and/or genuinely helpful, then. Figures. But the Doctor’s smart enough to figure it out, even without Ribbons giving her the information.

“But you live here, presumably,” she says. “I mean, given there’s a portal right where we’ve found you, you’ve chosen not to use it.”

“Oh, you ask the clever questions.” Ribbons pauses and turns to face her, a ghoulish grin on their face. “I bet your brain tastes so _delicious_.”

The Master’s grip on her hand tightens. Any response he might have had to that - and the Doctor has a pretty good guess as to what it would be - is halted by a sudden skittering and the sound of wings. Something small and pale lands on the lantern.

“What’s that?” the Doctor asks.

“Flesh moth,” Ribbons explains, tense. “Your fault. Keep still.”

They reach down to their belt of rats and toss one into the mist. The moth seems far more interested in the easy meal than the lantern, and in seconds it’s alighted on the rat and devouring it.

The Master tilts his head, considering, as the moth reduces the rat to a bare skeleton. He turns to the Doctor a second later, eyes wide and innocent.

“ _I know what you’re about to ask, and the answer’s no,_ ” the Doctor thinks firmly. " _No flesh moths in the TARDIS._ "

He pouts, slightly more dramatic than is strictly necessary. “ _Not even one?_ ”

The raised eyebrow the Doctor gives as a reply is more than enough to convey that she’s serious. 

“That’s one very hungry moth,” Grace whispers.

Ribbons grins. “Won’t hurt clothes, but, uh, they strip the meat off your bones. Luckily, anything can be distracted with a little bit of food.” They wait, perhaps for a reply, but none come. “Onwards, friends. Ribbons will clear and follow.”

Ryan is _really_ bad with kids. With babies, he’s always terrified he’s going to drop them, with toddlers they’re just too energetic. Small kids are actually okay, for the most part, but once they hit puberty he doesn’t know what to do with them. Hanne is no exception to this. Luckily, Yaz seems to be having better luck.

“So, Hanne, what have you been doing while your dad’s been gone?” Yaz asks.

“I tried to find him, the first few days,” Hanne replies. “But when I couldn’t, I read. A lot. We don’t have a lot of books I can read, but I couldn’t just do nothing.” She pauses. “Which bit of the house is weakest on the map?”

Ryan and Yaz share a panicked look. As if it will help, Ryan glances over to the message the Doctor left them on the wall. Shockingly, it doesn’t yield any helpful advice for lying to emotionally distressed teenage girls.

“The, er, the living room,” Graham says. “All those windows.”

“Right, yeah, what Graham said,” Ryan agrees quickly.

“It’s not a map, is it?” Hanne demands. “It sounded like she was writing something!”

“No, it’s- it’s a map,” Yaz insists. “Promise.”

“What are you hiding from me?” Hanne takes a step forward, towards the mirror/portal/whatever-it-is. “I want to go with them!”

“The Doctor told us to stay here,” Ryan says, getting in front of her.

“I want my dad!"

Yaz puts her hand on Hanne’s shoulder and kneels down. “Hanne, the Doctor is going to bring your dad back. I promise. How about this, why don’t we go downstairs, we can find something to do, and if they’re not back in an hour, we’ll go in after them. Okay?”

Hanne sighs, petulant. “Fine.”

Another roar from the thing in the woods rattles the house, sounding closer than ever.

“How about we re-check our defenses first?” Ryan suggests, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Good idea,” Graham says.

They hurry down the stairs, and as Ryan’s about to head out the door, something catches his eye. Stuck to the wall and trailing out under the door is a wire.

“Guys, look,” he calls.

Yaz comes over and takes the wire from him. Her brow furrows in concern.

“What d’you think this goes to?” she asks.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s good,” Ryan says.

He takes the wire back from Yaz and opens the door, following it across the yard and to a pair of speakers tucked against a tree. As he lifts one, the same roar blasts from it. Ryan quickly detaches the wire from the speakers.

“Is that what’s been making that noise?” Graham asks.

“Yeah,” Ryan mutters.

“Her dad really did leave her,” Yaz gasps. She takes off back to the house, shouting, “Hanne! Hanne, it’s okay! Hanne?”

When Ryan reaches the house a few moments later, Yaz is in the living room looking around, panic clear on her face.

“Where is she?” he asks.

Yaz turns, eyes wide. “She’s gone.”


	62. Moth to the Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting earlier than usual today because I need the Serotonin Boost, and also because I wrote the entire chapter last night and have been dying to post it all day

“Is this where you saw Erik?” the Doctor asks, looking around the large cavern Ribbons has led the three of them to.

The ceiling towers above them into the dark, and the mist is lower on the floor than it is in the narrow, twisting halls. It seems, as best the Doctor can tell, the sort of place someone might decide to rest, if they were trapped in a mysterious not-place.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Ribbons says. They stop walking forward and turn to face the group. “Ribbons presents your weakest negotiating position.”

“What do you mean?” the Master asks, tone verging on dangerous.

Ribbons clasps their hands, looking regretful. “Sadly, you have no umbilical.”

The Doctor’s hand flies to the ball of twine in her pocket, and she finds that it’s been cut loose from the strand. She’d checked it not long before the flesh moths had arrived, so Ribbons must have cut it while the rest of them went ahead.

“No Erik, no sonic,” she warns. Hopefully, the threat of losing their prize will be enough to motivate Ribbons again.

It isn’t.

Instead, Ribbons draws a knife, because of _course_ they have a second knife, and grabs Grace, placing the blade at her throat. Grace has enough common sense not to struggle, at least, going as still as she can manage.

“All we have here is such renegotiation,” Ribbons says casually, as if they don’t have a hostage in their grasp. “You have no way home. I can show you, but such delicious showing costs more.”

Out of the corner of her eye - too focused on Grace to risk looking away - the Doctor sees the Master’s hand inch for his sonic. He’s probably quick enough to get it out and kill Ribbons before they would have time to slit Grace’s throat. It’s the ‘probably’ that scares her. He turns his head ever so slightly to look at her, waiting for her to give him permission. She isn’t sure how to feel about that. It feels a bit too much like taking responsibility for the Master’s actions, and while doing that fuels her guilt like nothing else, she’s been trying not to. And here he is, handing it to her on a silver platter as if it doesn’t make a difference.

A premonition prickles at the back of her mind; a glimpse of the other timeline, fleeting and fear-soaked. Something is about to happen.

“ _Wait,_ ” she thinks, and his hand stills.

A flesh moth flutters out of the mist to alight on the lantern. The change in Ribbons’ demeanor is instantaneous. They shove Grace away, hands going to their belt for the final rat dangling from it.

“Flesh moth is following!” they hiss. “We must get rid of it, or more will come.”

Ribbons tosses the rat to the floor of the cavern, away from the group. The moth stays put on the lantern, chittering softly to itself. Faintly, the Doctor can hear more gathering.

“Could we just leave the lantern?” Grace asks, her voice remarkably steady.

“No!” Ribbons snarls. “Dark is worse.”

The Doctor needs to keep Grace and the Master safe. She can’t do that without knowing where they are. If she only knew a little bit more, then she could get them out of here.

“What is this place, Ribbons?” she demands, her voice sharp with growing worry.

Apparently impending death has wiped away any reluctance to share. “Antizone.”

Panic wraps around her hearts in a split second. She’d suspected, for a moment, when she’d first realized that they were between two ends of a portal, but nothing can survive in an antizone for long. Ribbons seemed comfortable here, which she had thought was good enough proof that it couldn’t be an antizone; the flesh moths had convinced her. Apparently that was just another thing the Time Lords had lied about at the Academy.

“Oh, no,” she breathes.

“How?” the Master demands.

Ribbons shushes them both frantically.

“What’s an antizone?” Grace whispers.

“It’s what happens when the fabric of reality is threatened,” the Doctor explains. “A buffer zone made to keep threats at bay.”

That’s the short explanation. The longer one involves several flowcharts, a fundamental knowledge of dimensional engineering, quantum physics, and temporal manipulation techniques, fifth dimensional imaging software, a brief history of the Time War in particular and Gallifrey in general, and four to six hours.

“And we’re in the middle of one,” the Master finishes. “Somehow. This shouldn’t be happening.”

The same ringing noise that the mirror-portal made echoes through the cavern, louder and closer and _worse_. Both Time Lords double over, grasping at their ears by instinct, though it doesn’t help block the sound. When the noise blessedly ends, the lantern flickers out a moment later.

“Flesh moth summoning its swarm,” Ribbons hisses. “Signal kills my lantern. Too many will come now! You should run.”

“Do not move a muscle,” the Doctor says in a low, stern whisper. “Stay completely still.”

Ribbons bares their teeth in a snarl, but doesn’t move any closer, confirming her theory. The skittering and flapping of the moths grows louder, and she can see faint pale spots flitting about the room. They gather on the walls, on the floor, on the lantern, looking almost like strange mossy growths in the faint light shed by the jagged and mysterious beams.

Slowly and deliberately, the Master reaches into his pocket. She realizes what he’s about to do a second before he does it, but she doesn’t stop him, even though she could. Even though she _should_. He pulls out his sonic and tosses it away from Ribbons, aimed just right so that it’ll fall within their line of sight. When it hits the cavern floor, it clinks softly and rolls to a stop.

Ribbons’ eyes fix on it the moment it stops, and then they widen. Their hands begin to tremble with thinly-veiled excitement and desire. They take a step towards the sonic.

Between when Ribbons lifts their foot and when it hits the floor, the moths _move_. It’s a fluid motion more like a wave than a swarm, a pack of eager predators descending on unsuspecting prey with hungry intent. The largest ones land on the meatiest parts - the Doctor tries very hard not to notice that, but she can’t help the knowledge creeping in.

As much as she may sometimes hate herself for it, the Doctor is a pragmatist when it matters, and she knows that this distraction won’t last long. It had taken one moth mere minutes to devour a rat, and there are dozens of them here now. If she wants to make it out of here alive, she needs to move _now_.

“Run!” she hisses.

Grace takes off immediately. The Master grabs his sonic off the floor in one quick movement, then follows her. After following Grace around a few turns, too panicked to even try to remember the path that took them to the cavern, the Doctor spots a light. Grace sees it too, pressing through it as soon as she can.

The Master reaches the portal, hesitates for a moment, and goes through as well. The Doctor isn’t far behind him, but she pauses to watch the moths approach. While they seem to be creatures of the antizone, somehow independently evolved to live on whatever prey stumbles in, she doesn’t want to take the chance that they can live outside of it. She steps through the portal with her sonic half-drawn and closes the portal as soon as she’s through it.

“We should be safe here,” she says. “I closed the portal, the moths can’t get us.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, dear,” the Master mutters. “Look at the walls.”

The room they’re in is almost identical to the bedroom they’d entered through. _Almost_. The sun’s light is shining bright and cheery through the windows, the sheets on the bed are yellow instead of green, and the Doctor’s scribbled warning on the wall is erased entirely. Or, more accurately, it had never been there in the first place.

The Doctor sonics the room, just to be sure, but the readings come up glitchy, as if the poor thing can’t comprehend the information it’s gathering. “I don’t think that was the same portal we came in through.”

She should have known the second she stepped through the portal, but the headache of the antizone covered the tingle of not-quite-right that alternate universes always have. And this is certainly an alternate universe, not just a fragmented timeline - even in an alternate timeline, she would be able to sense the Earth spinning beneath her feet, but that’s missing too. Somehow, there’s a perfect replica of Erik’s bedroom constructed on what feels like a perfectly still and stable base. That shouldn’t be possible.

Everything in the universe - _any_ universe - has imperfections. The tiniest wobble of an object as it spins ever-so-slowly across the abyss of space, the faintest imbalance of compounds in the air, the slightest hint of a gathering cloud in the sky. This place, whatever it is, doesn’t. With the hazy details, it almost feels like a dream, though it’s been a long time since the Doctor had such a perfect dream. When she looks closer at the walls, at the floor, at the windows, she realizes those, too, are perfect. Platonic ideals, without a flaw in sight. It’s fascinating the same way the light of an anglerfish would be to its prey, comforting in the manner of the rest of a grave or the warmth of a forest fire.

In the back of her mind, the Doctor can feel a gentle, soothing presence trying to calm her down, smooth away any anxieties or suspicions. She fights back, partially on principle but mostly because this place is genuinely intriguing.

She presses that sensation towards the Master. “ _Do you feel that?_ ”

“ _It’s subtle, but not nearly subtle enough. Not used to Time Lords,_ ” he replies.

“How’re we back in this room, then?” Grace asks. She’s sat on the edge of the bed, still catching her breath.

Turning back to face the mirror, the Doctor reaches her hand out. When she presses her fingertips to the surface, they meet cool, smooth glass. Her image is a perfect reflection, no blank zones or strange warping. She flattens her palm against it entirely, just to be sure, and when she pulls it back, there’s a faint smudge in the shape of her hand. Just as if this were a normal mirror. It’s the only imperfection in this place, she knows.

“Looks to me like we’ve ended up on the other side of the mirror,” she says.


	63. Warped Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will hurt...

“We can’t stay here,” the Doctor warns. “It’s not right, something about it feels… sticky.”

“Sticky?” Grace asks, giving her an incredulous look. “What, like honey?”

“Yes!” There’s not really a better word for it, the way the perfect air of this place clings to her skin like it doesn’t want to let go. “But I’m not sure how to get the portal working again yet. It isn’t reacting like the one on the other side did.”

“Maybe we should wait, let it cool down,” Grace suggests. “We could see if the rest of the house is here, or if Erik is.”

The Doctor perks up. “Brilliant idea, Grace!”

She heads for the stairs, dragging the Master with her. He’s been inspecting the house, searching for the same imperfections she’s been trying to find to no avail, and she can feel his growing annoyance through their bond. At the very least, this will make for a good distraction.

The door at the bottom of the steps opens without a sound, into a room that is, at least theoretically, the same as the one in Hanne’s house. It’s the same layout, but mirrored; the living room and kitchen have flipped. The whole place is brighter, too - no boards on the windows, and none of the eerie dimness that lurked in the corners of the original.

In the kitchen stands a man in jeans and a grey sweatshirt, facing the counter. He doesn’t seem to have noticed the door opening, so the Doctor takes advantage of his obliviousness to creep through the living room without alerting him. On the kitchen table, two places are set for a meal.

“Not interrupting, are we?” she asks, when she gets bored of the stealth.

The man startles and turns with a shout. Before she can stop herself, the Doctor yelps too. She hadn’t entirely expected him to move.

“What are you doing in my house?” the man - Erik, she’s willing to bet - demands.

“What are _you_ doing in your house?” the Doctor shoots back. “And how is this your house, Erik - it can’t be, can it?”

“Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Erik brandishes a rolling pin at her and steps closer. The logo on his shirt is backwards.

“Put that down,” the Master orders.

Erik’s arm lowers, and then his eyes widen as if that surprised him. The Doctor turns her head to glare at the Master.

“ _No hypnotism!_ ” she scolds.

“ _Wasn’t trying to, love._ ” While he doesn’t feel apologetic, there is a sincerity to it. “ _This place already has its hooks into him, made him more susceptable._ ”

“We just came through an antizone, sent by your abandoned daughter, and it wasn’t much fun,” the Doctor snaps.

“Hanne’s not abandoned,” Erik protests, but his voice is shaky with uncertainty.

Grace takes a step forward. “She’s terrified! She thinks you’ve been abducted, she’s scared out of her mind by some beast in the woods, and she acted like she hasn’t eaten since you left her!”

It’s a rare thing for Grace to get properly angry at someone. The Doctor doesn’t think she’s seen it happen before. Now, though, there’s a fury in her eyes. Erik shrinks back slightly.

“She’s a teenager. There’s food in the freezer, she’s fine without me.” He pauses. “And there isn’t anything in the woods except bears.”

“You seem very sure about that,” the Doctor remarks.

Erik looks down. “It’s just recordings, so she doesn’t go out up into the hills.”

The Doctor takes a moment to process this, because her gut reaction would end with a broken nose, and she knows that won’t help anything. That doesn’t make it any less tempting. She really, _really_ doesn’t like people who hurt their children.

“You turned your house into a fortress to keep your daughter scared?” she says slowly, just to make sure she understands properly.

“To keep her safe,” Erik corrects. “While I’m gone.”

Her jaw clenches. So she had understood perfectly. He was trying to justify terrifying his daughter into staying put as protecting her from the outside world.

“You knew you were coming here.” It’s a statement, not a question.

The guilty look on his face is more than enough of an answer. “Look, thanks for coming. I’ll go back soon, but you can go now.”

“Who else is here?” the Master asks abruptly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Erik says, lying and doing a terrible job of it.

“Yeah, you do.” The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “Two plates.”

As if on cue, a woman steps through the gauzy curtain that hangs over the door to the yard. She’s illuminated by the perfect sunlight, and dressed warmly.

“Hi, I’m Trine.” She smiles. “Erik’s wife.”

“Erik! You got mirror-married?” the Doctor blurts before her brains catch up to her mouth.

Erik pulls Trine into a hug. He looks happy with her, comfortable.

“No,” he says, “Trine is Hanne’s mom.”

That makes even less sense, and it’s a bad day when marrying a mirror-person makes more sense than the alternative. The Doctor pulls out her sonic and begins scanning ‘Trine’. She doesn’t trust anything here, but she trusts this new person even less than everything else.

“Hanne said her mum was dead,” Grace points out.

“In your world, I am. But not here.” Trine looks somewhere between confused and scared. “What are you doing?”

“Is this another timeline?” Grace asks. “One where Trine is still alive?”

“No,” the Master snaps. “It isn’t. Whatever this place is, it’s not another timeline. I don’t even think it’s another universe.”

“I remember dying,” Trine says. “But, here I am.”

She beams up at Erik.

Erik smiles back, then looks at the Doctor. “She can’t leave. We tried, but she can’t go through the mirror. I know I stayed away from Hanne too long, but I kept thinking - what if I go and I can’t come back? I can’t lose Trine again.”

“Your daughter needs you,” the Doctor says coldly. “We’re leaving, and you’re coming with us. Now.”

She knows better than anyone the pain of losing someone, and how sweet the temptation to do anything to get them back is. She also knows that it’s a terrible idea to give in. Time and time again she’s lost people she loves, and she’s moved on, because the rest of the universe needs her. Those selfish impulses rarely ever end well, and they never have for her.

“Don’t you want to see your friends?” Trine asks, tilting her head.

The Doctor’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“They got here when you did,” Trine replies. “They’re both outside.”

The Doctor considers not checking, she really does. She knows that whatever - whoever - is out there, they won’t be able to help because they won’t be _real_. This place can create people, or facsimiles of people, and that’s all she’ll see outside.

But, something in her can’t bear the thought of not looking, just in case.

She steps outside. The Master doesn’t follow her, though he gives her hand a squeeze before letting go. Grace, however, does join her as she goes from the neutral warmth of the house to the sunny day outside. And then the Doctor sees her.

Intellectually, she knows there’s another person out there as well, a man that Grace is staring at, but her brains stopped working at the sight of Bill. Bill as she was before the Mondasian colony ship, Bill in one piece and happy and smiling so brightly the Doctor’s hearts hurt.

“Doctor?” Bill asks, turning to face her. “Is that you?”

As quickly as Yaz realized that Hanne was gone, the time it took for her and the boys to follow through the mirror seems to have been enough time for Hanne to get ahead. The place behind the mirror is dark and foreboding, the towering rock walls seeming to go up and onward forever into the mist.

“Where do you think she’s gone?” Ryan whispers as they creep forward.

“Not sure,” Yaz says. Her eye catches on something looped around a bit of rock - a piece of twine. “But it looks like someone left us a trail.”

“Probably the Doc,” Graham says. “Seems like her sort of idea.”

Yaz nods. Tying a bit of string around a rock like she’s in a labyrinth is _exactly_ the kind of thing the Doctor would do. Hopefully Hanne was able to find it, because if not, then she could be anywhere in this maze of tunnels.

It takes about 10 minutes to find Hanne by following the string. It’s a very tense 10 minutes, with Ryan jumping at every noise or creepy shadow.

“Hanne, don’t move!” Yaz calls, as soon as she sees the girl.

Hanne freezes, a moment before her foot was about to fall on what looks like a corpse. It’s only barely visible in the faint red glow coming from some unseen source, but better safe than sorry.

“It’s us. Don’t worry, there’s nothing dangerous, you just _really_ don’t want to put your foot down right now,” Yaz says, trying to keep her voice soothing.

She steps forward and gently grabs Hanne’s shoulders, moving the girl so that she’s no longer right in front of the definitely-a-corpse. Not even really a corpse, more of a skeleton.

“There’s a light over here,” Ryan points out.

He leans over, sticks his hand into a gap in the rocks, and yanks out a red balloon-like light, casting the room into a crimson glow.

“Oh, as if it weren’t creepy enough here,” Graham mutters.

“Why? What does it look like?” Hanne asks.

Yaz, after taking Hanne’s hand, begins to walk deeper into the place. “It’s kind of a cave, and sort of a maze.”

“And there’s lots of mist everywhere,” Ryan adds.

“I’m sorry for running away,” Hanne says. “I had to get in here to find my dad.”

Yaz tries her best not to react to that, but her eyes dart to Ryan and Graham awkwardly.

“About that…” Graham starts. “The monster was just recordings in the woods. Reckon he did that trying to keep you from going outside and getting lost.”

Hanne stops walking. “He lied to me.”

“Yeah, he did, sweetheart,” Yaz says gently. “But I’m sure he didn’t mean to be gone for as long as he’s been.”

Hanne yanks her hand out of Yaz’s. “He lied to me, and now you’re lying to me too!”

Above them, barely noticeable, something soft and white lands on the lantern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pain to come next chapter, and I'm so, so sorry!


	64. Shattered Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pain!

The Doctor’s felt her hearts break so many times it’s a wonder they still beat, but this is a new level of cruel. She’d already made her peace as best she could with Bill’s death, had said goodbye to both the real Bill and the glass creature wearing her face and memories, and now she can feel that wound tearing itself back open. But something isn’t right.

“How do you know I’m the Doctor?” she demands.

Bill grins, just as cheeky as always. “What, like anyone else would ever wear that coat and that shirt?”

She wants to believe this is real. More than anything, she wants to believe this is real. She wants to hug Bill - oh, that’s interesting, first time she’s wanted to hug someone who isn’t the Master in this body - and apologize for failing her, find some way to steal her away from this strange place and take her back. She also knows, in her slowly sinking hearts, that that can’t happen.

She’s beginning to piece together what this place is. When Grace had said it was like honey before, she had been right. It’s a trap, and Trine and Bill and the man Grace is now hugging are the bait. The very, very effective bait.

“Doctor?” Bill asks, stepping closer. “You alright?”

“Tell me something only-” the Doctor starts, but then realizes. If this place is in her brains enough to pick someone to trap her, then it will know what she wants to hear. Instead, she says, “You aren’t real. You can’t be.”

Bill’s face falls, and the Doctor has never felt so guilty. “You don’t think I’m real?”

She sounds on the verge of tears. The Doctor tries to stop the horrible feeling that brings to her hearts, but to no avail. Real or not, she cared - _cares_ \- for Bill, and even knowing this is an attempt to manipulate her doesn’t make it any easier.

“You _can’t_ be real,” the Doctor repeats. “I saw you- I watched as you- you _died_. You died because I couldn’t keep you safe and I had to live with it and I had to watch something else use your face and I am _not_ doing it again!” The Doctor isn’t entirely sure when she started shouting, but on the next sentence her voice breaks and goes quiet. “Whatever you are, please don’t do this to me. Don’t make me do this again. Anyone else, pick anyone but her.”

“I swear I’m me,” Bill pleads. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but I’m me. I’m Bill. I gave you that awful rug, and that ‘World’s Best Grandad’ mug you pretended to hate. I saw you put it in the TARDIS, by the way, you weren’t fooling anyone.”

It had been a joke for Father’s Day, and the Doctor had made some snarky comment about unnecessary holidays created for company profits, and promptly put the mug in a place of honor. She still uses it, on days when she felt reminiscent. It always leaves a bittersweet feeling in her hearts, but it’s worth it.

“This place is a trap, all of it,” she says, trying her best not to look directly at Bill. “Erik lost Trine, so she’s here. Grace lost her first husband, and I’m pretty sure that’s him. I… I failed Bill Potts, and now something is wearing her face trying to keep me here. I just don’t know _why_.”

“ _I’m_ Bill Potts!” Bill insists. “I remember being converted, and I remember saying goodbye to you, and then I woke up here.”

Just like Trine. Of course.

“Doctor?” the Master calls, stepping outside. “Why do you- oh.” He stops in his tracks at the sight of Bill. “Well, I was going to ask why it felt like you were drowning yourself in grief, but I guess that answers that.”

“Who’re you?” Bill asks. “And can you _please_ convince her that I’m me?”

For a moment, he looks sincerely regretful. “If you were real, maybe. But Bill Potts is dead. I’m certain of that.”

Hearing it from him makes it feel a bit more real, even though the reminder of his involvement hurts. This whole place hurts, though, so one more drop of pain hardly makes a difference. And the sadness in his eyes seems so genuine.

“How do you-” Bill looks confused for a moment, and then her face twists up in fury. “Oh, you _bastard._ I’m gonna kill you.”

The Doctor isn’t quick enough to stop Bill from stomping up to the Master and trying to punch him. She almost manages it, too; he only dodges by a small margin before grabbing her wrist.

“Don’t.” His gaze hardens. “The real Bill Potts might have that right, but you don’t.”

“Why don’t you people believe me? I am the real Bill Potts!” Bill’s voice shakes as she says it, something between anger and frustration.

Either the thing playing Bill is a very good actor, or she’s genuinely convinced that she is the original Bill Potts. It doesn’t really make a difference in the end, though.

“Fine, let’s assume you’re the real Bill,” the Doctor says. “Why can’t you leave? Why’s there an antizone separating the two portals? What could be so dangerous and so powerful that it could create a whole ‘nother universe and either steal dead people or make copies?”

Then something occurs to her. Something extremely unlikely, but just possible enough…

The Doctor flings her arms out, gesturing at the whole area around them. “What if this is the Solitract?”

The Master blinks slowly, once, twice. “You mean like the story your grandmother used to tell? _That_ Solitract?”

“Sorry, what?” Bill asks. “What’s a Solitract?”

“It’s kind of an energy, a consciousness; back when all the nuts and bolts of the universe were still floating around figuring themselves out, it was there. But none of them - maths, matter, light - could work together to make an actual universe because the Solitract was there.” The Doctor can feel herself falling into the old cadence of her lectures as she talks, gesturing with her hands and growing more excited by the minute. “It wanted to help, but it just kept messing things up. So what did the universe do? It exiled the Solitract to a separate plane so everything could work again. And then the universe put itself together, and sealed off the Solitract.”

“It’s also a bedtime story that your senile grandmother told you,” the Master points out, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t she think one of your other grandmothers was a spy for the Daleks?”

The Doctor bristles. “Look, Granny Five was wrong about Granny Two being an agent for the Zygons, but do you have a better explanation?”

The deeply annoyed and resigned look on the Master’s face is answer enough.

“Wait, but how could this be the Solitract plane if you could get here?” Bill asks. “It’s supposed to be blocked off entirely, isn’t it?”

“Good point. Not entirely sure on that one.” The Doctor scronches. “But it explains the antizone, and why everything’s just a little off here, and why you’re here. Because you’re part of the trap, even if you don’t know it.”

Bill opens her mouth to protest, but the Doctor talks over her before she can. It’s rude and she feels bad for it, but she can’t let herself get too attached to this- this notBill, because she’s going to have to leave her behind soon enough.

“Grace! I figured out where we are!” the Doctor shouts.

Both Grace and her first husband turn. The man has a kind face and warm eyes that are focused solely on Grace. When they walk towards the Doctor, they do so side by side.

“Doctor, this is my first husband, David,” Grace says, smiling. “David, these are the Doctor and the Master. I was telling you about them.”

“Hi, David. Grace, that’s not your husband. No offense,” the Doctor adds apologetically.

Grace’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this place is a trap and he’s part of the bait. So’s she,” the Doctor points at Bill, “and it’s not their fault. But we need to leave _now_ , and they can’t come.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, where Grace doesn’t move.

“It’s him or the real world, and you can’t have both,” the Doctor says. “I’m so sorry. But you need to come inside with me.”

She can see Grace’s heart break. But underneath is the core of steel that makes her such a perfect companion, and the next thing Grace does is take a deep breath and turn to face David.

“I’m sorry, love,” she says. “But I’ve already lost you, and I have more people who need me.”

Ryan can say with absolute certainty that he has never hated anything as much as he hates these tunnels right now. Bad enough that they’re creepy and filled with dead things, now they’re also full of vicious, flesh-eating moths that are chasing the four of them through the winding tunnels.

As he rounds another sharp turn, up ahead Hanne trips over a small rock and nearly sends both her and Yaz to the ground. In order to avoid a collision, Ryan skids to a stop, and then almost ends up knocked over anyways when Graham bumps into him from behind.

“Why are we stopping?” Graham hisses.

“Hanne tripped!” Ryan whispers back.

Luckily, the moth must be nearly blind, because Ryan can hear as they flood right past the corridor they’ve ducked into. Once the last of them are past, he finally relaxes and takes a deep, nervous breath.

And then the moths are back, shrieking and fluttering and _everywhere_. They must have realized they lost their prey.

The four of them take off running again. After a sharp left turn, Ryan catches sight of something bright at the end of the tunnel - the portal.

“You three go, I’ll distract them!” Graham shouts.

“I’m helping too!” Ryan protests.

The moment Yaz and Hanne are through the portal, the two men take off in opposite directions. Ryan sprints away from the portal for a good minute, and when it seems the moths aren’t following him anymore, he sinks against the wall to catch his breath. He hopes Graham escaped too.

The bedroom feels even more strange, now, knowing that it truly isn’t right. Every step up there, every floorboard, every piece of furniture seems off. When the Doctor steps up to the mirror-portal, she notices her handprint is gone from it.

It also isn’t responding at all to her sonic. She tries every setting that she can think of, even the one that’s only meant for toaster ovens, all to no result. No matter what she tries, the reflection of the room - and of the six people in said room - stays the same.

“I need to get this open to get Erik out of here,” she mutters. “Oh, it won’t budge! It must be controlled by the Solitract. And I can’t force it like before, because it’s _clever_ and it’s adapting.”

Her tone is almost admiring for a second, before she catches herself. It’s fascinating, yes, but it’s also trying to trap people, and staying to study it seems like a _terrible_ idea.

The Master brushes his hand against hers and sends a collection of memories, times she’d tried something so absurd and out of the box it managed to blindside her opponent and work. For a moment, she wonders why he didn’t just _say_ what he means, but... Even with the security of skin contact and the Master’s extra shielding, it’s hard to keep the Solitract from being able to snoop. Luckily, it’s enough for the Doctor to get the gist.

She grins, then switches the sonic to a rarely used setting - she needs to reverse the polarity.

The mirror begins to warp as she focuses, brow furrowing with concentration. Then, after a moment, the shuddering liquid quality overtakes the whole mirror, like watching a frozen pond melt from the inside out.

“I think we’re good to go!” she announces. “Erik, Grace, time to go.”

“Doctor, wait!” Bill says. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t do this.”

That is a low blow, even for a mirror universe trapping people with images of their dead loved ones. The Doctor’s grip tightens on her sonic, and the raging guilt in her hearts intensifies.

“You said you’d keep me safe, didn’t you?” Bill pleads. “Don’t leave me here.”

The Doctor grits her teeth. “Grace, Erik, come on! Now! I can’t hold it much longer!”

And then Hanne and Yaz barrel through the portal, and her concentration breaks for the one crucial second it takes for the portal to collapse, and she’s back to being trapped. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Solitract? Using the Doctor's deep-seated guilt about failing Bill to manipulate her? It's more likely than you wish it was!


	65. Solitary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot longer than I planned? There just wasn't really a good stopping point so I sort of Kept Going, and all this to say this is both the end of the It Takes You Away arc, and the 'interlude' that would normally follow it. So, next chapter will be straight into The Battle of Ranskoor Av-Kolos. We're in the home stretch now!  
> Also, minor TW for some suicidal ideation, during the first part of the Master's POV.

The Doctor whirls from facing the mirror to make sure that Yaz and Hanne are okay after their rather abrupt entrance. Yaz caught herself fairly easily, but Hanne is kneeling on the floor. Both of them are gasping for breath.

“Hanne, it’s me!” Erik says.

Hanne pulls herself to her feet. “I heard my dad!”

Erik wraps his arms around her in a hug, comforting the poor girl.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes. “I’m here.”

Yaz is looking around the room, her expression growing more and more confused by the second. Her eyes linger on Bill for a moment before she turns to the Doctor.

“Where are we?” she asks. “And who are all these people?”

“We’re in another universe - well, sort of - and this is Erik, Erik’s fake wife, Grace’s fake husband, and… an old friend,” the Doctor explains, pointing to each person. She scronches. “Kind of. She’s fake, too. And now the portal’s adapted again. I can’t open it.”

Yaz’s eyes go wide. “Graham and Ryan are still in there!”

“What do you mean my dad’s fake wife?” Hanne demands, pulling back from Erik’s embrace. “You got married?”

“No! Hanne, I was going to tell you soon, but..” Erik reaches out and pulls Trine closer. “I found your mom. She’s alive.”

Before Hanne can react, Trine kneels down and hugs her. Hanne immediately draws back, pushing Trine away.

“I don’t know who _you_ are,” Hanne snaps. “But you’re not my mom!”

The entire house trembles suddenly, shaking and rumbling.

“Graham and Ryan are still in that antizone?” Grace says. “Doctor, you need to get that portal open.”

Flipping through the settings on her sonic, the Doctor snaps, “I’m trying!”

Another rumble rocks the house like an earthquake. Everything in the room flickers for a split second, glitching out of the proper dimensions before putting itself back together.

The Doctor turns to Trine and Bill, hoping to appeal to the Solitract. “This world is falling apart because of us still being here. You and us are still _totally_ incompatible.” She gestures to a stricken Erik. “Erik being here may have been manageable, but six of us? That’s a lot more incompatible stuff. You’ve gone over capacity. You need to let us go, _now_."

“Is it me, or is this woman completely mad?” Trine asks Bill.

Bill doesn’t reply, and that’s when the Doctor is absolutely certain that she’s right. The real Bill would have laughed and said something about how she’s always like this, or- no, she’s getting off track. Can’t be distracted by her emotions right now.

“Trine isn’t doing this!” Erik protests.

“Yes, she is,” the Master says impatiently. “They’re all part of this, just the same as the furniture. Your daughter can tell, but I’m not surprised you can’t. You’re so desperate to escape your own life you’d rather become some lonely god’s plaything.”

Something about the way he says that makes the pieces click in the Doctor’s mind. Erik isn’t the only one who’s yearning for companionship.

“Oh!” the Doctor gasps, turning to the Master. “That’s it! That’s why the Solitract is doing this! It’s lonely. So it built a world it thought we’d like, took forms we wouldn’t reject… all because it wanted a friend.”

David looks at Grace, desperate. “Don’t listen to her!”

“I really wanted to believe you were real.” Grace shakes her head. “But my David would never try to tell me to leave Ryan.”

David’s face twists. A shockwave ripples through the room, and both Grace and Yaz flung through the mirror in a heartbeat. As soon as she’s gone, David flickers and disappears.

“How did he do that?” Trine yelps.

The Doctor is too tired to bother being polite to the Solitract now. “Oh, I think you know.”

“What happened to them?” Erik asks.

“He was a power drain,” the Master says. “Didn’t have the energy to make someone for Yaz, didn’t need to stick around once Grace left.”

“I want to go home,” Hanne whispers.

Trine steps toward Hanne and grabs her hands. “Hanne, don’t be scared! Erik, tell her it’s okay.”

“Hanne, we’re in a place, and it’s… close enough to home.” Erik’s voice is trembling. “We can stay - I wouldn’t ask you to stay if it wasn’t safe.”

“You would, Dad,” Hanne argues. “You’re not well. You haven’t been since Mom died.” She turns toward Trine. “You’re not my mom. Whatever you are, I hate you! Now let me out!”

Finally, the Solitract obliges. Trine sticks a hand out, and another pulse of energy pushes Hanne through the mirror. The house trembles again, but this time it doesn’t end. It comes in rolling waves, knocking boxes off of shelves and almost sending the Doctor to the floor before she catches herself on a wall.

She’s just about had enough of this. All the manipulation, all the lying and cheating, it’s really getting on her nerves.

“Now do you believe me?” she snaps. “Erik, this woman is clearly an alien force collapsing two realities and impersonating your dead wife. Time to move on, mate!”

“But I can’t!” Erik protests.

The Doctor almost laughs. “No. Of course you can’t.” She had really been hoping things wouldn’t end like this, but… “Fine. Congratulations. Erik wants you.”

Trine smiles at that.

“Just one thing,” the Doctor says, stepping towards Bill. “This world is falling apart. I reckon you can only keep one of us. You sure he’s your best option?”

“Doctor, don’t,” the Master warns.

She continues, ignoring him. “‘Cause the Solitract doesn’t want a husband. You want a whole universe. Someone who has seen it all, and that’s me. I’ve lived longer, seen more, loved more, and lost more.” At this, she tries very, very hard not to look at the Master; if she does, she _knows_ she won’t be able to go through with it. “I can share it all with you, anything you want to know about what you never had. ‘Cause he’s an idiot with a daughter who needs him, and the Master is too selfish to share. So let them go, and I will give you everything.”

“Don’t you dare, Doctor!” the Master snarls. She can feel his fury as strongly as if it were her own, but it’s the only way to keep him safe.

Trine extends her hand and shoves Erik and the Master out through the mirror before she too dissolves, leaving only Bill. The Doctor can feel her connection to the Master _snap_ unevenly as they’re separated. She pushes the splintering pain to the back of her mind and tries to block it out. If she makes it out of this, she can apologize and deal with it then.

The Master stumbles out of the Solitract and into the antizone with a furious scream tearing itself from his lungs. She could have found another way out, he’s certain of it, but _no_ , she had been fascinated by that place the minute they got there and now she’s going to stay there and _leave him_. All that talk about forever and traveling the stars with him and the first chance she gets, she picks a sentient universe over him. He should have known.

“Where’s the Doctor?” Yaz demands.

Oh, yes, and she left him with her intrepid band of humans, too.

He pulls himself to his feet. “Still there. Doubt she’s coming out any time soon. If you don’t want to die here, you should leave. Now.”

Before they can respond, he pushes past them and starts heading for the portal back into his universe. Not that it holds any real appeal, now, Doctor-less as it will be. No point in conquering worlds or burning civilizations if she isn’t there to thwart his plans. He might as well just stay in the antizone and let it kill him.

Now there’s an idea. If she ever got bored of that place, she’d find his skeleton as she went back to the universe. Would she mourn him, or just be grateful that he’s gone?

As he’s contemplating that, the antizone begins to shake, much like the Solitract had. Perhaps it was still stabilizing, then, not yet recovered from stretching itself so thin. Or maybe it won’t fix itself in time, and both the Solitract and the antizone will tear themselves apart, killing everything inside. That would almost be poetic, he thinks idly. At least then they would die at the same time. And it would be permanent, for once.

He’s reached the other portal by now, and could easily escape. Instead, he sinks down against a wall and closes his eyes, waiting for the end. It’s not quite how he pictured it - he had always sort of hoped that they would kill each other - but it’s not too bad.

And then a hand grabs his and yanks him to his feet. His eyes fly open, but he already knows who it is. Of course he does. None of the humans have a double heartbeat. None of the humans’ touch makes his mind light up like a circuit board.

“Come on!” the Doctor urges, pulling him after her toward the portal. “This place is about to collapse!”

“Yes, thank you, I hadn’t noticed!” he snaps.

He follows her, because he doesn’t think he has any other choice. In an instant, they’re back in the real bedroom. Behind them, the mirror shatters into pieces, scattering glass across the wooden floor. The humans are all already in the room, catching their breath. Somehow, Erik has acquired a black eye.

The relief of feeling time flow past him properly is overshadowed by a burning rage that has him whirling to face the Doctor.

“You left me,” he says, deceptively calm.

She flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that fixes everything, does it? You abandon me _again_ , only come back because the whole place is falling apart, and one little apology makes it all better, Doctor?” He doesn’t care that the humans are right there, or that they’re staring.

“I needed to keep you safe,” she argues. From the desperate look on her face, she probably even believes that.

“I’m not one of your little pets,” he sneers. “I know you, and I know that you wanted to stay behind. You wanted to learn all you could about that place, and you didn’t want to deal with _me_. So you left as soon as you could!”

“Can we not do this now, please?” she begs.

He tilts his head as if considering. “No, I think we will. You can’t run off and hide, and I am more than willing to listen while you try to justify yourself. So, Doctor, let’s talk.”

“I had to stay behind,” the Doctor says. “It was the only way to get everyone out. I didn’t want to stay-”

The Master interrupts her. “No, try again.”

She makes a face. “Fine. I wanted to learn more, but not like that! I left as soon as the Solitract let me!”

“Show me.”

“What?”

He steps closer to her, grabs her hand, and presses it to his temple. “Show. Me. Prove it, Doctor.”

Reluctantly, she closes her eyes and does as she’s told.

The first thing the Master sees when he opens his eyes in the Doctor’s mind is blinding white light. Slowly, it resolves itself into a space, almost like a large, open room. Then, seated on a simple wooden chair, he sees a frog.

“That’s the Solitract,” the Doctor explains. She’s standing next to him, or at least her telepathic representation is.

Sharing memories is a tricky thing, from a technical standpoint. Keeping something so emotional and subjective cohesive and comprehensible for someone else is extremely difficult. Or, rather, it’s difficult for people who don’t know each other from the inside out.

Though the Doctor’s haphazard unfolding of memories would be nonsensical at best to anyone else, the Master follows it easily enough. With her typical saccharine worldview and just enough genuine awe to remind the Master of when they were kids, she’d won over the Solitract and persuaded it to let her go. And she had meant every word of her speech. If she could have, the Doctor would have stayed there for a very long time.

And yet, despite that, she didn’t want it without him. When the Solitract had offered its friendship, she had accepted, but her hearts had ached at the thought of how empty they would still be. He finds that far more comforting than is probably healthy or sane.

When the flickering recollection ends, and the Doctor draws back from his mind again, his anger has calmed. She had meant it.

“I didn’t want to leave-” is all the Doctor manages before he’s kissing her. She makes a startled little noise before reciprocating, moving one hand so it rests on the back of his neck and deepening the kiss.

Graham clears his throat. “This is very sweet and all, but can you save it for when we don’t have to look?”

Blushing furiously, the Doctor pulls back.

“Sorry!” she yelps. “Forgot you all were here, to be honest. Bit busy. Been a long day.”

It doesn’t take long to make sure that everyone is okay, minus Erik’s mysterious black eye that nobody will admit to knowing the cause of. The Doctor decides not to press, because she really doesn’t blame whoever was responsible. It seems to have knocked some sense into him, because he’s decided to head back to Oslo with Hanne, and perhaps start learning to move on.

Unfortunately, her good mood doesn’t last very long once she reaches the TARDIS again. She had been planning to take the humans home, and then spend a nice long time with the Master. That plan is foiled the minute Grace asks, “Who was that girl?”

The Doctor decides to play dumb, hoping to avoid another Feelings Talk so soon after the last one. “Who?”

It doesn’t work.

“The girl the Solitract made,” Grace says. “You must’ve known her, the real her.”

“Ah. Right. Her.” The Doctor pauses, trying to find a way to talk about Bill that won’t hurt her. “She was another companion of mine. Her name was Bill Potts. I used to teach, and she was one of my students. And then I promised that I could protect her, and I failed, and she died.”

Her companions are silent, and the pity in their eyes makes her skin itch.

“You must miss her,” Yaz says after a long moment.

“Every day. We were… we were close.” Lectures, movie nights, adventures, every moment of her time with Bill weighs on her mind the moment she lets herself think about it. The look on her face on that dreadful ship when she-

“Anyways!” the Doctor chirps, desperate for anything else to be happening. “Let’s get you lot back home, hm?”

Flying the TARDIS is enough of a distraction that she can pretend she’s fine. And if the landing is a bit choppier than normal because her eyes are slightly blurred with tears, then at least she’s fairly certain her humans don’t notice.

Once they leave, the Master says, “You didn’t mention that I killed her.”

“Neither did you,” she replies.

He hums noncommittally, and the next thing she knows, he’s hugging her from behind, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. She turns to face him.

“Don’t do that to me again, love,” he says, meeting her eyes with an intensity that makes her shiver. “We’re dying together, whether you like it or not.”

The Doctor’s smile falls. “You know I can’t promise you that. I don’t want you dying on me. I don’t want to be the one to kill you.”

She isn’t entirely sure she could bring herself to do it, even if she had to. He could, she’s certain of that; he’s never been scared to kill her. But as much as she’d like to think that, if it came down to the universe or him, she would pick the universe, something in her hearts says otherwise. It’s selfish and horrible and the sort of thing she wishes wasn’t true, but that doesn’t change anything.

“I’ll just have to kill us both, then,” he says, far too gentle.

Instead of replying - instead of having to address the many things she _knows_ are wrong about that - the Doctor kisses him. It’s not a solution, but in the moment, it’s enough that she doesn’t care.


	66. Gordian Knot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I accidentally lied about this arc being Ranskoor Av-Kolos. The original plan was to segue from the end of that to the beginning of the final arc, but I decided that there wasn't really a point in adding what would end up being a filler arc just to drag this fic out more. So instead, ya'll are getting the first part of the finale about a week, week and a half early! It's a bit short, but it's for Dramatic Timing so it had to be done.

_The Doctor isn’t sure what she expected to see. Rubble, perhaps, or smouldering flames. A more visible, tangible show of the newest destruction wrought upon Gallifrey. Instead, it looks almost the same as it had all those decades ago, when the Master dragged her through that portal to gloat, to ruin her. There are no plants, though; none of the red grass she so fondly remembers from her childhood, no silver-leafed trees shifting in the slight breeze. All of it is long since dead and gone._

_She doesn’t step out of her TARDIS to take a closer look. Just standing in the doorway, she can smell the dust in the air, and she knows if she got any closer, she would be a wreck. This body isn’t prone to tears, not even when she had first come here after the Master revealed himself, but it is very good at spending hours detailing exactly how and why all of this is her fault. She already knows every item on that list, but reiterating that chain of cause and effect had become a hobby during her imprisonment._

_The other hobby, of course, was turning the Master’s actions over in her head again and again. Each time, they would play out like a movie behind her closed eyelids, an endless repetition of sweet, kind O’s smile turning into the Master’s vicious grin, the same grin that he wore when he showed off what he had done to their home, the same grin in the Matrix as he shattered her sense of self into knifelike shards._

_How long did he know? At first, she had been certain that he’d come before Missy, that his fury was borne of the drums or resentment for sacrificing himself for the Doctor. But sometimes, she had caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that made her wonder whether that was entirely right. Maybe, after leaving the Doctor, Missy had regenerated into this new Master. She doesn’t know which she prefers, which she would rather be true._

_If he had been before Missy, then she had spent those long decades in the Vault knowing that the Doctor was living a lie and choosing not to tell - and the Doctor does not know whether that was a kindness or a cruelty. If not, then trying to redeem Missy had been more futile than it had first seemed. He spoke of killing as if it was what he was meant to do, as if to spite her. Even nearly ninety years spent obsessing over his every move hasn’t been enough for the Doctor to be certain._

_After another moment spent staring at dead crimson earth, the Doctor closes the doors and turns to face the console. The TARDIS’ lights rarely change from a somber blue these days, but now it’s a welcome relief from Gallifrey’s warm tones._

_The Doctor isn’t sure where she should go, now. Earth draws her, as it always has, but she can’t bring herself to make that trip. Her companions are probably still waiting for her, wondering what happened. She can’t let them see her like this._

_Perhaps, she thinks, she could get some answers to her questions. It would be risky, and she’s certain the TARDIS will protest against landing somewhere so crucial to the Doctor’s timeline, but if it would put her exhausted mind at rest, it might be worth it._

The Doctor’s head is pounding, her vision blurring and doubled. No, not doubled - that implies that both images are the same. One is what she knows is right, and the other… the other is of the timeline she’s slowly come to dread. Though it has, on occasion, been a boon, this is not one of those times.

Every step she takes, every movement that differs too greatly from the other timeline has her dizzy and nauseous from the visions. She barely managed to finish fixing the temperature controls before it got too painful to bear. Going to the Master for help had only made things worse. The mere sight of him almost had her throwing up, the temporal dissonance was so strong.

They had tried strengthening her mental shields, hoping to block out the other timeline’s psycho-temporal imprint that was causing all this, but that had actually made the Doctor throw up. Whatever had caused it, it was too deeply embedded into her for anything that simple to work. Frustrated, the Master had retreated to the library in search of more information.

Now the Doctor stands in the console room, her hands planted on the controls so she can stand at an angle, heavily debating the merits of going to see what, exactly, all the fuss is about.

The divergence had occurred somewhere on the Mondasian colony ship, she knows that much. But not even the Master had been able to pinpoint when or how. Too many paradoxes, too close to their regenerations, too dangerous.

She turns her head a bit too quickly and a new wave of nausea makes her groan. A moment later, the other universe catches up and the pain abates, at least for now. The Doctor quickly decides that she doesn’t _care_ how dangerous it might be to visit the colony ship - it might also be the only way to stop this.

“I know you’re not going to like this,” she says, looking at the TARDIS’ crystal. “But I need you to help me. I don’t think I’ll be able to manage this landing without you, darling.”

The crystal pulses a concerned purple.

“I promise not to break anything while I’m there!”

After a second, she gets a feeling of reluctant agreement from the ship. She gives the console a pat and begins slowly moving around, flipping switches and pulling levers.

The materialization is a rough one. The TARDIS’ built-in paradox restriction programming, which the Doctor is mildly amazed is still in place given everything, protests against the landing the whole way through. A few of the less important alarms start going off.

In her mind, the Doctor feels a trickle of concern.

“ _Doctor, what are you doing?_ ” the Master demands.

“ _I have a hunch._ ” She presses the memories of the Monsasian ship towards him.

Cold dread seeps into her mind over their connection. " _You realize how stupid that is, don't you, love?_ "

" _I know. But it might be the only thing that fixes this._ " She doesn't mention that the mystery of it has been prickling at her mind for weeks, now. She doesn't need to. He knows. _“Don’t follow me, this is going to be risky enough with just me._ ”

Disbelief laces his thoughts. “ _Y_ _ou can’t be serious._ ”

“ _If this doesn’t work, you can gloat all you’d like_ ,” she replies, and then steps out of the TARDIS.

The forest of the 507th floor of the colony ship is almost exactly how the Doctor remembers it, dull and dark under the fake sky. She’s not quite sure where she’s landed, but she can’t see anything but trees. Sticking her hands into her coat pockets, she begins to walk. Eventually, she figures, she’ll find _something_.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of wandering in a direction she thinks is the North-equivalent, the Doctor catches a glimpse of movement in the trees.

“Hello?” she calls.

The figure freezes.

“I promise, I’m not a Cyberman!” the Doctor adds. “Obviously. Don’t sound anything like one. Doubt there’s ever been a Northern Cyberman.” She stops and collects herself. “Are you lost? So’m I. No idea where I am! Well, I know I’m on floor 507, but that’s about it.”

Still no response from the figure, though she can see it shifting slightly, leaning to one side.

“I’m going to come closer, is that okay?”

No reply. The Doctor decides to take that as a yes and steps towards the figure, slow and cautious. It doesn’t take long for the shape to resolve itself into a person. A very familiar person.

The Doctor hasn’t spent much time looking in the mirror in this body. She’s not nearly as vain this time around as some of her selves have been, and the most time she spent looking at herself was when she had been clothes shopping. Even so, she knows her own face when she sees it. The shoulder-length hair, tangled and dirty, and the exhaustion in the eyes aren’t enough to change that. The outfit is different too, she notices. Her blue coat she’s so proud of is gone, replaced by a dark leather jacket that brings to mind big ears and broken hearts, and the trousers the other Doctor wears are darker and longer. 

This shouldn’t be happening. Coming here a second time is already far too much of a risk; a third trip could tear space-time apart at the seams. She knew that going in, so this other her must know it too. What could possibly be so important she would take such a huge risk?

Curious, she glances at her timeline. It sets her head pounding again, strong enough she can feel it in her bones, but it also gives her something close to an answer. This other Doctor isn’t part of her timeline.


	67. Pair-o'-Docs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seeing lots of good theories in the comments - keep 'em coming, they're entertaining!

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The two Doctors speak at the same time, then stop themselves short. The Doctor wearing the blue coat - she refuses to let things get more complicated than that distinction in her head - laughs a little, but the one in the leather jacket does not.

“No, really, you shouldn’t be here,” the other Doctor says. Her voice is low and rough with exhaustion. “There’s already too many paradoxes, and we don’t need another one.”

“It won’t cause a paradox!” the Doctor protests. “I’m not you. Or, you’re not me? Look at the timelines, we don’t match up. Two different branches.”

The other Doctor pauses, closing her eyes. It takes the Doctor a second to realize she's looking at the timelines - she shouldn't need to close her eyes for that. Strange.

Finally, the other Doctor opens her eyes again.

“You’re right,” she mutters. “You’re so young… why are you here?”

Bristling slightly at the tone, the Doctor says, “Well, your timeline has been a bit rude. Left some sort of imprint on me when I regenerated, and now I keep seeing bits of it. So, I came to see if I could fix it. What’re  _ you _ doing here?”

“Wish my reason was that simple.” The other Doctor laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Have you been to Gallifrey recently, by any chance?"

“No, can’t say I have,” she says slowly. “Why? What’s happened?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” the other Doctor sighs. “Just… brace yourself. And I know I shouldn’t warn you about this, but that cute MI6 agent, O? Don’t trust him, either.”

“Wait, who?” The only time the Doctor’s heard that name was when the Master used it. She’s fairly certain she’s  _ never _ met any MI6 agent by that name.

The other Doctor tilts her head. “The one you met when you were stuck with Amy and Rory for a year? Gave him your number, actually managed to text him? Very bad puns, very good cat memes?”

“Literally no idea who you’re talking about.”

“What about your companions - who are they?”

“Grace, Graham, Yaz, Ryan, and…” The Doctor pauses. She doesn’t know if this Doctor knows that the Master survived yet. Or, perhaps, in her timeline, he doesn’t. It might be for the best to keep quiet. “And that's it."

That’s the first thing she’s said that’s got a proper reaction from the other Doctor. Her eyes go wide and achingly sad, and she almost seems to shrink as she pulls her jacket tighter around her defensively.

“You managed to save Grace, then,” she says. Her voice is very carefully neutral, cold in a way the Doctor didn’t know she could do.

The Doctor doesn’t need to ask to know what happened to Grace. That very first night, still fuzzy from regeneration and the adrenaline of success, she’d felt like something should have gone wrong. Someone should have died. And now, at last, she understands why.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Don’t,” the other Doctor snaps. “Anyways. You should really leave.”

“I don’t think I should,” the Doctor says. “And you know I’m not just saying that to be contrary. I’ve looked at the timelines, and something big happens here, something bigger than just the regeneration. And I think it’s going to take both of us to make it happen.”

Reluctantly, the other Doctor nods. “Fine. But don’t blame me if you see something… something you shouldn’t.”

_ The Doctor doesn’t want this other her. Just looking at her is too much of a reminder of who she used to be. That blue coat she had once been so fond of, before the dust of Gallifrey had stained it so badly the Doctor had thrown it into a sun, the light in her eyes still untouched by ancient wrongs… it’s all too much. But she knows herself, and knows that this younger, happier Doctor won’t leave things alone until she solves her own problem. _

_ So, begrudgingly, she walks through the forest side by side with the other Doctor. Neither of them speak; the initial questioning is out of the way, and anything more either Doctor could say would only run the risk of spoiling things for the other. _

_ What must her timeline be like? She’d managed to save Grace - something that makes the Doctor’s hearts twist - and she seems different somehow. Perhaps it’s just a self-perception issue. The Doctor’s always been bad at that. Or perhaps there’s something else, something that she isn’t sharing. She had started to say something about another companion, and then stopped. The Doctor knows when she’s lying to herself. _

_ The urge to pry is overwhelming. The Doctor knows it’s a bad idea to look into the other Doctor’s mind; she could find anything, she could cause a paradox, she could do irreparable harm to both timelines. But she’s already running a risk being here, and she’s so numb to the flow of time now that she hardly cares if she breaks it. It had started out as a defense mechanism, to keep the ticking of the seconds from driving her mad during her imprisonment, and now she can’t bring herself to relearn how to feel it. It’s so much easier not to care. _

_ So, knowing it’s foolish, the Doctor takes a look into her other self’s mind. _

_ And promptly runs into some very powerful shielding that, while  _ very  _ familiar, is distinctly not hers. _

The jacketed Doctor’s voice is sharp and tense when she breaks the silence. “Why do you have the Master’s telepathic signal in your mind?”

Freezing in place, the Doctor considers her options. 1. Lie. Not likely to work, but certainly easier than trying to explain. 2. Tell the truth. Horrible. Might spoil things for the other Doctor, will be deeply unpleasant for her. 3. Tell some of the truth. A combination of options 1 and 2. Somewhat uncomfortable, but less than it could be. Might be the best choice.

“We traveled together,” the Doctor says, trying not to sound like she’s lying. “For a bit. Long story.”

“Did he ever mention- no. You would know. Must’ve happened before…” the other Doctor trails off, muttering something. Then she looks up again, suspicious. “And he just left shielding there? And you  _ let him? _ ”

Ah. Yes. That would be a bit strange if the other Doctor didn’t know that they were doing more than traveling together.

“I haven’t gotten around to it?” the Doctor offers. “Been busy, what with the other timeline and everything.”

The other Doctor gives her a look, but doesn’t press any further. But now the Doctor has questions of her own. If this one knew it wasn’t Missy - and she must, she used masuline pronouns - then she must know that the Master made it off of the colony ship somehow. So she must have met him.

“What’s your version like?” she asks. “The Master, I mean.”

It’s almost as bad as if she’d asked about Grace’s death. The other Doctor's eyes become cold and dark, her spine stiffens, and there’s an undercurrent of  _ fury _ when she speaks.

“We’re not on such good terms.”

That could mean anything, honestly. But something tells the Doctor that it’s more dramatic than an argument or two. If Gallifrey was involved, then perhaps it was far worse.

“What happened to Gallifrey?” the Doctor asks again.

_ Of course she would ask that. Of course she would pry. The Doctor can’t really blame her, though; she doesn’t know, and her timeline’s Master must not have learned about the Timeless Child yet either. If he had, there’s no way their relationship would be so peaceful. The Doctor can hardly imagine trusting the Master enough to let him into her mind these days. It almost sounds nice, if she could forget what he did. What she did to him. _

_ She brushes the thought aside. That bridge had burned along with Gallifrey. No point in reminiscing now. _

After a long moment, the other Doctor speaks.

“It was destroyed.”

At first, the Doctor thinks of the Time War. Buildings burning down to coals, smoke choking the sky, the screams of Gallifreyans and the robotic shouts of Daleks filling the air. But she knows what the other Doctor left unsaid - the Master was responsible. He wouldn’t leave time for them to scream.

“Why?” she whispers.

It's not a revelation that he  _ could _ destroy Gallifrey; she's known for a long time that it was a possibility. But the thought that he  _ would _ , that something would finally push him past that bittersweet nostalgia they shared and make him angry enough to destroy their home is a worrying one.

The other Doctor stops. “I can’t tell you.”

The Master was right - she really is a terrible liar this time around.

“No, you  _ won’t _ tell me,” she snaps. “Why did he do it?”

“You really don’t want to know. I know you think you do, but… if your timeline’s Master is anything like mine, you’ll learn soon enough.”

With that, the other Doctor turns and continues walking into the woods.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here!” the Doctor shouts, following her.

Stars, she always hates meeting herself. So insufferable, every single time, and this one is worse than most. Though, it's been a long time since she met the same regeneration of herself; that might be part of it.

She considers warning the Master that there's something even weirder than expected going on, but there's no possible way that will end well. This other Doctor doesn't seem to trust the Master at all, so if he came to help that would only make the situation worse. And there's no doubt in her mind that if she told him that there was another version of her running around that he  _ wouldn't _ come to check it out. He's predictable like that.

So instead, the Doctor keeps quiet and follows her other self. Or at least, she tries to. The other Doctor stops short at the edge of a clearing and shushes her.

Curious, the Doctor takes a step closer, peering through the trees to see- oh.  _ Oh _ . She can't help but feel that, even though it  _ looks _ innocent, the hug that Missy and the blond Master are sharing is somehow indecent. At the very least, it's private; the Master had never mentioned it, and though she's certainly one to pry, this doesn't seem to be her business.

And then Missy draws her hand back, and there's a knife grasped in it, dripping blood.


	68. Backstabber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bring you Sadness and yet more canon!13 angst! Enjoy! Also just a hint of Thrissy, because I'm still a little sad they never met in-show

In the clearing, Missy wraps an arm around the Master’s shoulders and helps him walk to the lift. They both stumble slightly from the uneven weight and the stab wound, respectively. The Doctor’s pretty sure that’s the first time she’s seen Missy off-balance. It’s strange.

“How long do I have?” the Master asks, his voice remarkably steady.

“Oh, I was precise. You’ll be able to make it back to your TARDIS, maybe even get a cuppa,” Missy assures him as he collapses to the floor of the lift. “Although, you might leak a little.”

She turns and walks over to where her umbrella is stuck into the dirt, leaving the Master to pull himself up onto his knees. Both Doctors take a quick step back, deeper into the woods. Getting spotted would be really bad, especially right now.

“And then regenerate,” he sneers, “into  _ you? _ ”

Missy smiles. “Welcome to the sisterhood.”

“Missy, seriously,” the Master says, the closest thing to pleading the Doctor's ever heard from that body. “Why?”

“Because he’s right. Because it’s time to stand with him.” The look she gives him is almost pitying. “It’s where we’ve always been going, and it’s happening now, today. It’s time to stand  _ with _ the Doctor.”

With that, Missy grabs her umbrella and begins walking away. Beside her, the Doctor hears her other self inhale sharply.

“I didn’t know,” the other Doctor whispers, so quietly it’s barely audible. “Why didn’t he  _ tell me? _ ”

“No,” the Master snarls. “Never. Missy! I will never stand with the Doctor!”

“Yes, my dear, you will,” Missy sighs.

There’s a familiar whirring noise as the Master raises his laser screwdriver and points it at Missy’s back. The Doctor knows what’s about to happen a second before the glowing beam illuminates the clearing and strikes Missy, sending her tumbling to the ground, and she has to stop herself from trying to do  _ something _ .

Watching the Master die, or about to die, is something the Doctor  _ hates. _ Even if she's furious at him, a part of her is always little Theta Sigma watching his best friend almost drown, and it hurts. She knows she can't interfere, knows she can't put a stop to the bleeding of the knife wound or save Missy, but at that moment there's nothing she wants more. Even knowing they both survive to regenerate, it’s horrible to see.

“Don’t bother trying to regenerate,” the Master says. “You got the full blast.”

Missy starts laughing, high and slightly mocking. After a moment, the Master joins in, chuckling even as his breaths start to become uneven and labored. Finally, he stops, taking a sharp breath.

“You see, Missy,  _ this _ is where we’ve always been going,” he says, gesturing with his screwdriver. “This is our  _ perfect _ ending. We shoot ourselves in the back.”

Still laughing, Missy leans back and lets herself collapse onto the ground. The doors to the lift swish closed. The clearing falls silent, except for Missy’s faint breaths.

_ The Doctor hadn't expected this. She had thought- to be honest, she wasn't really sure  _ what  _ she thought the two of them had done after Missy betrayed her, but this definitely wasn't it. Perhaps some gallivanting about the universe causing chaos, not… not a murder/suicide in the most literal sense of the phrase. _

_ The Master's rage looks much more like betrayed anger in this new light, and she isn't sure how to feel about that. She doesn't forgive him, of course; she doesn't know if she can, anymore. But it certainly adds to the guilt turning in her stomach. _

_ The other Doctor doesn't seem as surprised by the sudden turn of events. Her eyes are wide, but with a mournful sadness instead of shock. Perhaps she already knew what happened to Missy. Perhaps her version of the Master had trusted her enough to tell her. _

_ The Doctor can't help but feel a little bitter about that. This alternate her, this other Doctor, seems to have had all the luck. Grace survived, the Master traveled with her, and she remained unaware of Gallifrey's many horrible secrets. It simply isn't fair. Nothing ever is. _

The Doctor turns to face her other self, urgent. “We need to help her.”

The other Doctor's eyes are fixed on the events unfolding in front of them, wide and shocked. She must not have known what was about to happen. Would it be easier, the Doctor wonders, to live thinking that she had been truly betrayed? Easier to turn the hurt into anger, certainly. Easier to close herself off from the Master, too.

She sighs. “Why? Why not just leave her here and let all this end?”

“How can you- because she’s our  _ friend! _ ” the Doctor snaps, trying her best to keep quiet. “Because she tried to do the right thing, and because-”

She pauses as a revelation hits her. All those months ago, back on Desolation, she had wondered how Missy wound up in the TARDIS. The Master didn’t remember, and neither did she. At first, she had just assumed that was due to regeneration fogging their memories, but perhaps she was wrong.

“Because that’s why I’m here,” she finishes softly. “That’s why I kept seeing your timeline - it’s not a paradox, it’s a loop! And that’s how our timelines are split off from each other, but we still both ended up here. This is the branching point. We need to get her into our- my-  _ his _ TARDIS before they regenerate.”

Naturally, the other Doctor latches on to the wrong part of that. “When you said you traveled with the Master, you weren’t telling the whole truth. You regenerated with him.”

The Doctor groans. “Yes, I did, but that’s not the point! The point is that we need to hurry, because Missy is going to start regenerating soon!” 

_ The selfish part of the Doctor wants to refuse. Why should she help the other Doctor get her happy ending when she is the one suffering for it? Why help the Master when he’s broken her hearts into pieces? _

_ She knows why, of course. It’s the right thing to do, it’s the  _ kind _ thing to do, and even now she tries so hard to be kind. Most of the time, she knows she fails, but that doesn’t mean she should stop trying. Not here, not now, not yet. Not when she can help. _

The Doctor half expects her other self to still disagree, though she knows it won’t happen. Even broken and bitter, she’s still the Doctor, and she wouldn’t have come here if she didn’t want to help on some level. So it’s not truly a surprise when the jacket-clad Doctor steps into the clearing and gently picks Missy up off the ground.

Missy doesn’t stir, probably already unconscious. If the Doctor’s right, they’ve got maybe five minutes before their window of time to get her to the appropriate TARDIS is up. But perhaps they can cheat, just a little. If one of them can make it to their TARDIS and jump back just enough…

“How close are you?” she asks, assuming that the other Doctor has the same idea.

“Not close enough. You?"

After doing the mental math, the Doctor says, “Barely. I’ll be quicker on my own, though. You’ll know if I make it.”

It’ll be a tricky thing, landing the TARDIS so precisely. She can’t cross her own timeline by getting there too early, but if she’s too late, her entire timeline might stop existing. No pressure.

The Doctor takes off at a run through the forest, hoping she can find her way back to her TARDIS in time. As soon as she spots the familiar blue box, with only a minute left to spare, the doors swing open. She doesn’t bother to close them, heading straight for the console and taking off for the Vortex. That, at least, will give her a little breathing room to get everything just right.

“Doctor?”

She looks up to see the Master, lounging on the stairs. He raises an eyebrow.

“Is there a reason you came running in here like you were being chased, and then sent us straight into the Vortex without so much as a hello?” He stands and moves around the console until he’s next to her. “I’m assuming your little plan, predictably enough, didn’t work?”

The Doctor waves a hand vaguely. “Well, sort of. I mean, I found out what was causing it. Mostly.”

Another quirked eyebrow. “Mostly?”

“Not quite sure on the details still, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out soon.” The Doctor leans in front of him to press a button. “Now, if I can just…”

She flicks one more switch and yanks the dematerialization lever down. With a shudder and a grinding noise that sounds more annoyed than usual, the TARDIS lands. The doors fling themselves open again.

Outside, mere meters away, stands the other Doctor, Missy still in her arms. The regeneration hasn’t started yet, though there’s a faint golden glow already beginning to form on her skin. As the other Doctor steps into the TARDIS, she takes a look around the room. Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth to say something.

“Don’t say a word,” the Doctor warns. “I don’t care if you don’t like the desktop.”

And then it hits her that the decor is probably not what the other Doctor is making a face about. The Master is still in the console room. Standing right next to her, grinning like it’s Christmas day and he’s just unwrapped the perfect present.

“Why didn’t you tell me there’d be another Doctor, love?” he asks, dropping the toothy grin for a dramatic pout, though his eyes are still glittering. He steps away from the console to stalk closer to the other Doctor, circling her and taking in every detail, even as she glares at him. “I would have dressed up, done something with my hair. I mean, she looks so _delicious,_ I just feel unprepared.”


	69. Razed Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN AND FLIRTING IM SO SORRY

_The moment the Doctor sees the Master, her hearts stop. She isn’t sure whether it’s fear or relief that floods her veins first; both happen nearly simultaneously. He’s alive, he’s_ here _, and somehow the other Doctor doesn’t seem to care. Then it hits her._

_This isn’t her version of the Master. He’s the one that belongs with her other self, in the other timeline._

_Realizing that doesn’t lessen the strangeness of seeing him, though. She had convinced herself, during the span of her imprisonment, that he was dead. Sometimes it had been with a vicious glee. Others, she had hoped that she was wrong. And now, there’s another him, standing so close to her now that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to._

_Not that she does. Even knowing that this version hasn’t yet discovered what lurks in the dark corners of the Matrix, the Doctor doesn’t think she can bring herself to trust this Master. He’s too similar - of course he is. If she lets herself, she can see the same look in his eyes that the Master,_ her _version, had had when they were on that plane. Glee, frantic energy, and something else. Something more._

_The Doctor gives herself a mental shake of her head. Obsessing over every detail of this other timeline will only drive her mad, worse than she probably already is. But there is one thing that’s bugging her._

“When you said you traveled with the Master,” the jacketed Doctor begins sharply.

"I _might_ have used the wrong tense," the Doctor says sheepishly. "English. So hard to remember which one's which."

The Master turns from eyeing up the other Doctor, putting a hand to his chest. "Darling, you didn't tell your lovely double I was here? I'm offended. Am I just not good enough?" Then he grins again. "Or were you scared she was going to steal me away?"

As he speaks, he moves towards the Doctor, until he's as close to her as he was to her other self a moment ago.

"Don't worry," he whispers. "You're still stuck with me."

He kisses her gently, and it would almost be romantic if she wasn’t sure he was only doing it to be obnoxious. She places her hands on his chest ever-so-softly and shoves him, making him stumble back.

"Not for much longer if we don't get Missy where she should be. Put the flirting on hold for a minute, _Jack._ "

A low blow? Perhaps. One she regrets? Not in the least.

This time, the offense in the Master's eyes is genuine. The other Doctor smirks for just a second before it disappears again.

“Still doesn’t explain why you have his telepathic signature all over your mind,” she says, eyebrows raised.

“Like I said, I’ve been busy,” the Doctor deflects. “Anyways! We really do need to be going. I’d ask if you wanted to help steer, but…” She glances deliberately at Missy, still dead to the world but not yet regenerating fully.

The other Doctor nods. “And we’d just keep running into each other. I understand.”

"How is my prior self, by the way?" the Master asks, heading back across the room to inspect Missy. “I do miss her. She was fun, right to the end. The corset was a pain afterwards, though.”

For a moment, the Doctor wants to ask him why he never told her the details of Missy’s death. Oh, sure, he’d mentioned it in passing, in the middle of their argument on Desolation when they had both still thought they’d been betrayed, but never after that. She had never pressed. Asking would be redundant, though; she’s figured out why.

Missy’s death was the closest thing to a truly selfless act the Master’s done in a long, long time. Without hope, without witness, without reward. Talking about it, turning into just another plan gone wrong or another death, would strip away some of the importance. The Doctor isn’t sure either of them are quite ready for that.

She turns back to the console and dematerializes the TARDIS, turning off the shielding so that she should be able to slip into her younger self's ship. In order for the plan to work, the Doctor can't fully land the TARDIS. She needs to phase in just enough that the doors will open and Missy can leave, but not enough that she'll get stuck in the other TARDIS and cause a paradox. Even such gentle and quick interference will have consequences. In retrospect, that’s probably why the TARDIS was so moody, though the double dose of Artron energy certainly didn’t help.

Even though she isn’t looking directly at the timelines, she can feel them tensing. The sour taste of a budding paradox edges at her taste buds. It’s now or never, and she can’t afford the latter.

The moment the TARDIS begins to settle, the other Doctor is heading for the doors. In the span of a second, she sets Missy down outside of the TARDIS doors and steps back inside, closing them again. As soon as she’s fully inside, the Doctor is dematerializing them again. The engines protest against such harsh treatment, groaning and wheezing, but a moment later they're secure in the Vortex.

"It worked," the Doctor breathes. She grins. "It worked!"

She can feel the tangled mess of timelines relax into themselves again, the loop successful and the paradox that had begun to form already fading away. Still giddy with success, she pulls the Master into a quick hug, then a soft kiss.

It takes her a second to remember that there’s still someone else - or, at least, someone - in the TARDIS. Her other self is standing awkwardly near the doors, her hands in the pockets of her jacket and trying not to stare.

The Master grins. “Do you want one too, dear? I’m sure my other self won’t mind if they have to share a little.”

The other Doctor’s face goes blank. Instantly, the flush of adrenaline drains from the Doctor’s cheeks and the room goes quiet.

Finally, the other Doctor speaks. “I’m not currently on speaking terms with him.”

"'Just had a bit of a tiff,' not on speaking terms, or 'Tried to kill each other and meant it' not on speaking terms?" the Master asks, trying for teasing but not quite making it.

The awkward, heavy silence is enough of an answer.

"What did he do?"

"I should get back to my TARDIS," she says quickly. "Need to pick up my fam and all that."

The Master steps closer. "Doctor. What did I do?"

"You really meant it, didn't you?" she says, phrasing it more like a statement than a question. "What you said when Missy died. I wonder what changes."

The Master tilts his head at the non sequitur. "Pardon, love?"

"Well, I know what you _say_ changes, but you wouldn't have destroyed Gallifrey if you really meant it," she continues, voice growing cold.

“He destroyed Gallifrey?” The Master grins. “Lucky him. You two must have so much to bond over, now.”

The other Doctor laughs, bitter. "And there it is! Even before you know about the- about his reason. I should have seen it coming, really. That's what I get for thinking that you changed. No matter what I try, you just never want to do anything but destroy anything we’ve ever shared."

_It’s far easier to fall back into the cruelties she’d exchanged with her own version of the Master than it is to handle the casual flirting and genuine friendliness. Or as close to it as the Master gets. Watching the pair of them exchanging such affection makes her hearts sting._

_She had considered, for a little, flirting back and playing his games, just because she knows there won't be consequences. A different, simmering part of her wants to take her anger out on him for the same reason. Let her other self pick up the pieces after all this is done; she deserves a chance to be cruel for once._

_Even if it isn’t the right Master, even if he won’t be able to tell her_ **_why_ ** _he did it, why he thought she wanted any of this… it’s tempting. Horribly, seductively tempting. She might not know this version of him too well, but she does know how to hurt him. He’s still Koschei, after all, and he’s still so very similar to hers. A few well placed words could ruin him.  
_

The Doctor's too busy with the console to see the Master's face, but she can imagine the shock and sadness in his eyes all too clearly. In the back of her mind she can _feel_ the hurt burning like acid before he smothers it.

"That's enough," she says firmly. "Whatever yours did, take it out on him, not mine.”

"You haven't seen it," the other Doctor snaps. "What he did. Not just to the buildings, either." She laughs again, short and bitter. "Do you want to know what he did with the corpses?"

Before the Doctor can say that no, she _really_ doesn't, the jacketed Doctor bares her teeth in something that could, generously, be called a grin.

"He invited a Cybercarrier onto Gallifrey and used it to make himself an army of regenerating Cybermen. Cybermasters, he called them. And he forced me to pick between killing everything he left alive on Gallifrey or letting him loose on the universe."

"You're still here," the Doctor points out, shoving the horror rising in her stomach down until she can ignore it. She had always wondered what choice she would make if forced, but knowing the answer makes her sick.

"I found another way. Of course I did. But he still made me choose. And you know what?" The other Doctor shakes her head ruefully. "I almost did. I almost killed us both because I thought it would be worth it."

If this were a human, or anyone but herself, the Doctor would try to comfort her. She would try to sympathize, give them the benefit of the doubt. But this is herself, if under different circumstances, and she can’t bring herself to give her that much.

"Ninety years in jail gives you a lot of time to wonder whether you made the right choice," the other Doctor continues. "I don't know if I did. But I do know that trying to help Missy was futile, and so is this little charade of happiness you have going. He's not going to change, and I think you know it too."

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” the Doctor says. Her voice is just as cold and sharp as her other self’s. She doesn’t care.

The other Doctor meets her eyes. “Fine. When he tries to kill you again, or you find Gallifrey burnt and desolate, just know it was always going to happen. We should have learned centuries ago to stop trying, and if it takes you a few more? So be it.”

Landing back on the colony ship is child's play compared to the precision piloting she's been doing all day. As soon as the TARDIS settles with a thud, the other Doctor is on her feet and headed for the door.

If the Doctor were kinder, perhaps she would have stopped her, told her to try to make amends with her own version of the Master. She doesn’t. Instead, she sends the TARDIS back into the Vortex and lays her forehead on the edge of the console for a moment. When she turns away from the controls at last, the Master isn’t in the room.


	70. Peace of Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally done it! This is the end of this monstrosity of a fic! I decided to end on a short and soft note, since there's been a lot of Angst for these poor nerds

The Master knows it shouldn't matter this much to him. The Doctor who had sunk her claws into him and  _ shredded _ wasn't his Doctor. But she was still  _ a _ Doctor, and even battered, bruised, and bitter as she was, his hearts sang around her. Even feeling the hatred - genuine and seething and it would've been delightful if it weren't meant for him - he can't stop himself from wanting her love.

Did she really think so little of him? Destroying everything they ever shared - that was what she thought he was trying to do?  _ He _ wasn't the one refuting every offer at friendship, every extended hand, every half-share of the universe. If anything, he should have given up on  _ her _ after these long centuries.

Not that he would. Not that he could. But that the Doctor would be so disgusted with him to finally stop playing their little back and forth, their give and take of antagonism…

A knock on the door of the library derails that awful train of thought. Without waiting for an answer or invitation,  _ his _ Doctor walks in and sits down next to him.

"I would ask if you're okay," she says, and then trails off.

He laughs, just a little. Not even the Doctor is oblivious enough to not know the answer to that one.

"I didn't like her either," the Doctor continues. "She was… she almost left Missy to die. She thought she'd really been betrayed. I think being by herself changed her. And not for the better."

She goes quiet again. Then, slowly enough that he could easily stop it if he wanted, she puts an arm around his shoulders. The Master can’t stop himself from relaxing into her touch. It is, perhaps, a little pathetic how much he enjoys it, but neither of them have much in the way of shame when it comes to the other.

They stay like that for a long time - seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds, his brains helpfully provide - before he speaks.

“I have been trying.”

Every time he considers just killing whoever’s responsible for the predicament the Doctor finds herself in, every time he gets the urge to use hypnotism to get answers, he looks to the Doctor. It’s not  _ good _ in the way he knows she wants him to be, but the Master doesn’t think he can reach that, and this compromise is as close as they’ll get. Not the pillar of the morality the Doctor pretends she is, but not the rampant force of destruction he plays opposite her, either.

The Doctor shifts slightly, leaning closer into his side than she already is. “I know.”

There’s a wealth of unsaid words there, but neither of them are in the mood to press further. Saying aloud what they already know is a pointless exercise by now, anyways.

The Doctor knows he’s always going to have that sharpness to him, just as he knows she’s always going to hide her own until she needs it. It’s as much an act as it is genuine by now; two different and yet very similar ways of gaining control over a given situation.

The Master knows she’s always going to press just a little further than he’s willing to give, just as she knows he’ll do the same. They’re never content with what they have, and they never will be. But their boundaries are flexible enough to bend, at times, just enough to keep both of them happy.

When the Doctor wakes up, her neck is stiff and her head is on the Master's shoulder. The lights of the library are dim and cozy.

Part of her wants to wake him, ask him if he wants to talk. She doesn't - of course she doesn't - but she feels like she should. On the other hand, for all he likes to lecture her about proper sleeping habits, the Master is just as bad as she is when it comes to taking care of himself. It's been a long time since she's seen him so peaceful.

In the end, she decides to let him rest. Moving slowly to avoid waking him, she turns around and grabs a blanket off the back of the couch. After draping it over both of them, she curls back against him.

Even with the other timeline gone from her mind at long last, the Doctor has a feeling this won't be the only problem they face. As much as she'd like to think that their partnership will be all fun adventures and nick-of-time victories, she knows better. They're both far too dangerous to live in relative peace.

But for now, at least, she can enjoy the soft, hazy space in between the genuine threats. The Doctor's eyes drift closed, and she dozes off again to the beat of four hearts in harmony.

The TARDIS is not well-suited to more conventional means of communication; speech and writing are difficult when one normally lacks the capacity for either. But she can do emotions, particularly when her Thief is involved. She is less fond of her Thief's partner - he  _ broke _ her, he hurts her Thief on a regular and cruel basis, and he still has yet to apologize for either - but she has learned to tolerate him.

So, when she feels both of her silly little Time Lords drift off, she soothes them. She lets them rest without nightmares or trouble, at least for now.

Existing in all of time at once makes it hard to keep track of the "proper" order of events, but the TARDIS knows she will have to take them places they won't want to be soon enough. Best to permit them peace, for as long as she can make it last. It's the least she can do.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this isn't the end of their adventures! The current plan is to do a Resolution rewrite in a few weeks, and then eventually a rewrite of s12 featuring Even More Angst. There might be a few little oneshots while I take a break from the long fics as well.  
> Thank you all so much for your support and comments - without them, this fic wouldn't have made it this far. <3


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